UC-NRLF 


CLASSIC 

OLD    AND    NEW 


A  FOURTH  READER 


AMERICAN  BOOK  COMPANY 


- 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


DEI 


No.     <// 


fowl 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/classicsoldnewseOOalderich 


CLASSiaSB-H-u--. 
OLD    AND    NEW 

H  Sertes  of  Scbool  IReaoers 

BY 

EDWIN   A.  ALDERMAN,  LL.D. 

A  FOURTH   READER 


NEW  YORK  -:■  CINCINNATI-:-  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
UNIVERSITY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


jJCATION  DEPT. 

.3019 


PREFACE 

Good  expression  in  reading  is  the  product  of  sympathy  and 
understanding,  and  therefore,  the  child  who  likes  to  read  is 
quite  sure  to  take  first  rank  as  a  good  reader.  The  controlling 
purpose  of  Classics,  Old  and  Xew  is  to  inspire  in  children  a  love 
for  reading,  and  thus,  without  their  being  conscious  of  the  fact, 
induce  in  them  the  reading  habit.  This  is  about  the  best  and 
safest  of  all  habits.  If  we  contrive  to  teach  young  people  the 
mechanical  art  of  reading,  and  fail,  at  the  same  time,  to  breed 
in  them  the  impulse  and  desire  to  continue  their  education 
throughout  life  by  reading,  we  have  cheated  them  out  of  the 
best  thing  to  be  obtained  by  going  to  school. 

Good  literature  is  an  expression  for  the  best  of  the  world's 
activity,  and  the  power  latent  in  such  literature  to  lift  and  en- 
lighten the  mind  and  spirit  is  greater  than  any  other  power, 
save,  perhaps,  the  influences  of  home.  The  formal  education 
of  many  of  the  children  that  will  use  this  series  of  readers  will 
cease  with  the  elementary  schools.  This  fact  makes  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  readers  a  very  serious  task,  especially  to  one  who 
knows  children  well  enough  to  realize  how  difficult  it  is  to  know 
them  at  all. 

When  a  child  enters  the  Fourth  Reader,  he  has  practically 
mastered  what  may  be  called  the  mechanics  of  reading.  New 
words,  as  words,  no  longer  have  any  terror  for  him.  He  knows 
how  to  read,  we  say.  He  is,  therefore,  at  a  critical  moment  in 
his  mental  life  in  so  far  as  that  life  touches  literary  culture. 
Let  us  hope  that  his  imagination  is  not  dulled,  and  that  he  has 
learned,  as  the  earlier  readers  of  this  series  are  planned  to  teach 
him,  to  have  a  feeling  for  the  good  as  distinguished  from  the 

54!  409  3 


bad  or  the  commonplace.  The  selections  in  this  book  are  the 
work  of  three  score  and  ten  writers  of  distinction,  writers  of  the 
past  ages  and  of  the  present,  time — writers  of  many  lands,  who 
were  not  writing  down  to  children,  but  uttering  their  own  best 
thoughts.  This  book,  like  the  earlier  numbers,  may,  therefore, 
be  appropriately  called  Classics,  Old  and  New. 

No  hard  and  fast  culture-epoch  theory  has  determined  their 
selection,  though  earnest  thought  has  been  given  to  the  interests 
that  appeal  to  youth  at  this  age.  Constant  effort  has  been  made 
to  give  variety  in  subject  matter,  and  yet  to  maintain  a  unity 
of  appeal  to  the  understanding  and  the  imagination.  The  sub- 
jects chosen  range  from  nature  and  myth  and  adventure  to 
biography  and  patriotism  and  ethics. 

Our  material  age  is  coming  more  and  more  to  neglect  poetry 
as  a  thing  outside  the  world  of  reality.  The  truth  is,  that  there 
are  no  more  practical  things  in  the  world  than  poetry  and  music, 
for  they,  even  more  than  bread,  bring  to  life  what  it  needs. 
Many  of  us  can  recall  poems  that  have  served  us  as  practically 
in  the  day's  work  as  have  the  multiplication  tables.  The  guid- 
ing thought  in  all  the  poetry  selected  has  been  to  acquaint  the 
child  with  the  songs  that  will  always  be  sung — especially  the 
older  poems  studied  by  their  fathers  and  mothers  before  them, 
— such  old  and  yet  ever  young  treasures  as  "  Lord  Ullin's 
Daughter,"  Gray's  "  Elegy,"  "  Annabel  Lee." 

The  author  believes  that  these  readers,  in  the  hands  of  sym- 
pathetic teachers,  can  be  so  used  as  to  make  not  only  good  read- 
ers in  the  technical  sense,  but  also  real  lovers  of  fine  literature, 
young  people  of  good  taste  in  letters  and  of  an  increasing  desire 
for  close  friendship  with  the  best  that  has  been  thought  and  said. 

The  following  acknowledgments  are  made  in  addition  to 
those  already  given  in  the  biographies:  to  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons  for  the  use  of  "  How  I  Found  Livingstone  "  ;  to  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.  for  the  use  of  "  Playing  Theater  at  Pivermouth," 
and  to  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  for  the  use  of  "  A  Tradition  of 
Weatherford." 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Lord  Helpeth  Man  and  Beast  .     Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  9 

The  Stone-Cutter Bayard  Taylor  11 

The  Night  Has  a  Thousand  Eyes     Francis  William  Bourdillon  14 

Old  Ironsides Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  15 

The  Foolish  Little  Air-Current       .         Jesse  Lynch  Williams  16 

The  Wind  and  the  Moon      ....        George  Macdonald  21 

Dog-Sleighing  in  the  North       ....     George  Kennan  23 

Two  Minutes George  Cary  Eggleston  28 

Little  Giffen Francis  0.  Ticknor  30 

The  Minnows  with  Silver  Tails        .        .       .        Jean  Ingelow  32 

Queen  Mab Thomas  Hood  36 

Elizabeth  Zane John  Esten  Cooke  38 

Annabel  Lee Edgar  Allan  Poe  42 

How  Franklin  Learned  to  Write     .        .      Benjamin  Franklin  44 

Lucy William  Wordsworth  47 

Saluting  Mount  Vernon       .       .       .      John  F.  Urie,  U.  S.  N.  48 

Song  of  Marion's  Men           .        .        .        William  Cullen  Bryant  50 

American  Salmon Rudyard  Kipling  53 

A  Pair  of  Eagles T.  Gilbert  Pearson  57 

The  Eagle Alfred  Tennyson  61 

The  Loyal  Knight Charles  E.  A.  Gayarre  61 

The  Perfect  Life Ben  Jonson  65 

Fame Ben  Jonson  65 

Tharald's  Otter Hjalmar  H.  Boyesen  66 

The  Kitten  and  the  Falling  Leaves       .    William  Wordsworth  69 

Scott  and  His  Home Donald  G.  Mitchell  71 


0 


PAGE 

The  Singing  Leaves James  Russell  Lowell  75 

A  War-Time  Adventure         .        .       .           Thomas  Nelson  Page  79 

Dare  to  Do  Right George  L.  Taylor  85 

Spring  Twilight Edward  Rowland  Sill  86 

A  Wolf-Hunt    .               .        .        .        .        .        .   Hamlin  Garland  87 

A  Second  Trial Sarah  Winter  Kellogg  94 

My  Kate Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  99 

At  Lucerne Mary  Virginia  Terhune  101 

How  I  Found  Livingstone    ....        Henry  M.  Stanley  105 

Sir  Galahad Alfred  Tennyson  110 

The  Burial  of  Ferdinand  De  Soto          .        .        .    Grace  King  113 

The  Magnet Leon  Tolstoi  116 

The  Butterfly's  Ball T.  Roscoe  119 

Muirtown  Seminary  Boys John  Watson  122 

Concord  Hymn Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  127 

Playing  Theater  at  Rivermouth       .        Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  129 

Helena  of  Britain          .        .        .        .        .        Elbridge  S.  Brooks  132 

Among  the  Pearls Jules  Verne  140 

The  Coral  Grove James  Gates  Percival  147 

The  Cadi's  Decisions      .        .               .        .        .         Arabian  Tale  149 

Longfellow William  Dean  Howells  157 

The  Village  Blacksmith       .        .      Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  160 

Rescue  of  the  Crew  of  the  Merrimac  .    Richmond  P.  Hobson  163 

Mus'  Rattin' Dallas  Lore  Sharp  167 

Jack  in  the  Pulpit Clara  Smith  171 

A  Departure  from  Cairo      .        .        .         George  William  Curtis  174 

A  Poet  at  Home Helen  Leah  Reed  179 

The  Last  Leaf Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  185 

The  Scullion  who  Became  a  Sculptor      George  Gary  Eggleston  187 

A  Tradition  of  Weatherford      .        .         George  Gary  Eggleston  191 

On  a  Higher  Level Mary  N.  Murfree  194 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter         ....         Thomas  Campbell  199 

Coronation  of  the  Czar  and  Czarina      Richard  Harding  Davis  201 

Patriotism           Sir  Walter  Scott  206 


PAGE 


President  McKinley's  Inauguration        Richard  Harding  Davis  207 

Spring Henry  Timrod  212 

To  the  Dandelion    .        .        .        .       .        .  James  Russell  Lowell  213 

Hunting  the  Cougar  in  Mississippi   .        .  John  James  Audubon  214 

A  New  England  Boyhood     ....   Edward  Everett  Hale  219 

To  an  Oriole  Edgar  Fawcett  224 

Flower-de-Luce       ....     Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  224 

The  Glory  Has  Passed.     (Selection)  .        Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  224 

Coaching  in  Britain        .        .        .        .       .        .  Andrew  Carnegie  225 

Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard    .        Thomas  Gray  229 

The  Great  Pyramid Amelia  B.  Edwards  231 

The  Capture  of  Quebec        ....        Francis  Parkman  234 

Snow-Bound John  Greenleaf  Whittier  239 

The  Bell  Ringer  of  Notre  Dame     .        .       .  Victor  Hug- 

My  Star       . Robert  Browni  ,  i  245 

A  Journey  in  Brazil      .        .     Professor  and  Mrs.  Louis  Agasi 

If  I  Were  a  Boy  Again James  T.  Fiela 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  and  the  Angel      ....   Leigh  Htutf  252 


SUMMARY  OF  POINTS  COVERED  IN  LANGUAGE  WORK 

Sentences:   Compound,  112,  223;   complex,  115,  121,  223. 

Subject,  Compound,  56,  70. 

Predicate,  Compound,  70. 

Quotations,  29. 

Appositional  Terms,  41,  47. 

Independent  Terms,  93. 

Clauses,  115,  121. 

Series  of  Terms,  173. 

Paraphrase,  148. 

Word-study,  100. 

Narration,  27,  31,  52,  93,  127,  148,  156,  198,  223,  240. 

Description,  127,  162,  178,  218,  223,  240. 

Comma,  29,  41,  47.  70,  93,  121,  173. 

Semicolon,  112. 


FOURTH   READER 


THE    LORD    HELPETH    MAN    AND    BEAST 

During  his  march  to  conquer  the  world,  Alexander  the 
Macedonian  came  to  a  strange  people  in  Africa.  Dwelling  in 
a  remote  and  secluded  corner  in  peaceful  huts,  they  knew 
neither  war  nor  conqueror.  They  led  him  to  the  hut  of  their 
chief,  who  received  him  hospitably,  and  placed  before  him 
golden  dates,  golden  figs,  and  bread  of  gold. 

"  Do  you  eat  gold  in  this  country? "  said  Alexander. 

"I  take  it  for  granted,"  replied  the  chief,  "that  thou  wert 
able  to  find  edible  food  in  thine  own  country.  For  what  rea- 
son, then,  art  thou  come  among  us  ? " 

"  Your  gold  has  not  tempted  me  hither,"  said  Alexander, 
"  but  I  would  willingly  become  acquainted  with  your  manners 
and  customs." 

"  So  be  it,"  rejoined  the  other;  "  sojourn  among  us  as  long 
as  pleaseth  thee." 

At  the  close  of  this  conversation  two  citizens  entered  as  into 
their  court  of  justice.  The  plaintiff  said :  "  I  bought  of  this 
man  a  piece  of  land,  and  as  I  was  making  a  deep  drain  through 
it,  I  found  a  treasure.  This  is  not  mine,  for  I  bargained  only 
for  the  land,  and  not  for  any  treasure  that  might  be  concealed 
beneath  it;  and  yet  the  former  owner  of  the  land  will  not 
receive  it." 

9 


10 

The  defendant  answered :  "  I  hope  that  I  have  a  conscience 
as  well  as  my  fellow-citizen.  I  sold  him  the  land  with  all  its 
existing  advantages,  and  consequently  the  treasure  was  in- 
cluded." 

The  chief,  who  was  at  the  same  time  their  supreme  judge, 
repeated  their  words,  in  order  that  the  parties  might  see 
whether  or  not  he  understood  them  aright.  Then,  after  some 
reflection,  he  said,  "  Thou  hast  a  son,  friend,  I  believe  ? " 
"Yes." 

"  And  thou,"  said  the  judge,  turning  to  the  other,  "  a  daugh- 
ter? "    "Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  let  the  son  marry  the  daughter,  and  bestow 
the  treasure  on  the  young  couple  for  their  marriage-portion." 

Alexander  seemed  surprised  and  perplexed.  "  Think  you 
my  sentence  unjust?  "  the  chief  asked  him.  "  Oh,  no,"  replied 
Alexander,  "  but  it  astonishes  me." 

"  And  how,  then,"  rejoined  the  chief,  "  would  the  case  have 
been  decided  in  your  country?  "  "  To  confess  the  truth,"  said 
Alexander,  "  we  should  have  taken  both  parties  into  custody, 
and  have  seized  the  treasure  for  the  king's  use." 

"  For  the  king's  use !  "  exclaimed  the  chief,  now  in  his  turn 
astonished.  "Does  the  sun  shine  on  that  country?"  "  Oh, 
yes!  "  "  Does  it  rain  there?  "  "  Assuredly."  "  Wonderful! 
but  are  there  in  that  country  tame  animals  which  live  on  the 
grass  and  green  herbs  ?  "    "  Very  many,  and  of  many  kinds." 

"  Ay,  that  must  be  the  cause,"  said  the  chief,  "  for  the  sake 
of  those  innocent  animals,  the  All-gracious  Being  continues 
to  let  the  sun  shine  and  the  rain  drop  down  on  your  country." 

SAMUEL   TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 

[This  story  was  told  by  Coleridge  as  a  rebuke  to  the  kings  of  European  countries, 
Where  the  custom  prevailed  that  is  mentioned  by  Alexander.] 


11 


ed'i-ble,  fit  to  eat. 

plain'tiff,  one  who  makes  complaint 

against  another  in  court. 
de-fencTant,   one  against   whom    a 

complaint  is  made. 
per-plexed',  puzzled. 


cus'to-dy,  safe-keeping  in  prison,  or 
under  guard. 

hos'pit-a-bly,  kindly. 

con-cealcd',  hidden  from  view. 

con'se-quent-ly,  following  as  a  re- 
sult. 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE  (1772-1834),  an  English  poet,  also 
wrote  prose  for  magazines.  It  is  as  a  poet,  however,  that  he  is  best  known. 
His  sense  of  beauty  was  keen  and  delicate,  and  his  poetry  is  very  musical. 
Among  the  most  popular  of  his  poems  are  "The  Rime  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner,"  "The  Nightingale,"  "A  Day  Dream,"  "  Kubla  Khan,"  and 
"Christabel."  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  Robert  Southey  are  often 
called  "  The  Lake  Poets." 


THE    STONE-CUTTER 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  in  Japan  a  poor  stone-cutter — 
a  simple  workman  in  the  quarries.  His  life  was  rude;  he 
worked  much,  gained  little, 
and  was  not  at  all  contented 
with  his  fate. 

"Oh-,  if  I  could  only  be 
rich  enough  to  rest,  to  sleep 
on  thick  matting,  wrapped 
in  a  robe  of  soft  silk !  " 
Such   was   the   sigh   that   he 

An 


breathed     to    Heaven, 
angel  heard  it. 

"  It  shall  be  according  to 
thy  desire/'  said  the  angel. 


12 

The  stone-cutter  at  once  became  rich;  and  he  rested,  slept 
upon  thick  matting,  and  wrapped  himself  in  a  robe  of  soft 
silk. 

It  happened  that  the  emperor  passed  by.  He  was  preceded 
by  heralds  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  followed  by  a  brilliant 
escort  of  cavaliers,  and  surrounded  by  persons  who  held  over 
his  head  an  immense  parasol,  shining  with  gold. 

"  What  good  does  it  do  me  to  be  rich,"  murmured  the  rich 
man,  "  as  long  as  I  have  not  the  right  to  go  out  with  an  escort, 
and  have  my  head  protected  by  a  golden  parasol?  Why  am  I 
not  the  emperor? " 

"  Thou  shalt  be,"  said  the  angel. 

And,  indeed,  he  became  the  emperor.  He  had  an  escort 
before  and  behind  him,  and  people  who  held  above  his  head  an 
immense  paras*ol,  resplendent  with  gold. 

However,  the  sun,  with  his  ardent  beams,  dried  up  the 
country,  and  the  dusty  road,  quivering  with  his  brightness, 
wearied  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  great  advantage  to  be  emperor,"  cried  the  man, 
"  when  the  heat  of  the  day  exhausts  you,  and  the  sun  never 
ceases  to  make  you  feel  his  power!  But  if  one  could  be  the 
sun!" 

"  Behold !  art  thou  satisfied  ? "  the  angel  asked ;  for  the  em- 
peror had  become  the  sun,  and  he  darted  his  beams  up  and 
down,  right  and  left,  and  all  around  him.  And  he  scorched 
the  herbage  of  the  earth  and  the  faces  of  the  princes  upon 
the  earth. 

But  now  a  cloud  thrust  itself  between  the  earth  and  him; 
it  held  back  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  prevented  them  from  fall- 
ing upon  the  earth's  surface. 

"  There    is    strength,"    cried    the    sun ;    "  a    cloud    capable 


13 

of  resisting  my  power.  It  would  be  better  if  I  were  a 
cloud." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  angel. 

And  the  change  was  at  once  accomplished.  The  new  cloud 
placed  itself  haughtily  between  the  sun  and  the  earth,  and  so 
thoroughly  intercepted  the  rays  of  the  sun,  that  it  soon  saw 
the  earth  covered  with  its  shadow.  Then  it  caused  big  drops 
of  rain,  and  pouring  showers,  and  waterspouts  to  fall  upon  the 
lands,  so  that  the  torrents  burst  their  bounds,  and  the  rivers 
spread  over  and  devastated  the  fields. 

Nothing  resisted  the  force  of  the  flood;  only  a  rock  defied 
it,  perfectly  motionless.  In  vain  the  bellowing  waters  beat 
in  their  fury;  the  rock  yielded  not,  but  the  foaming  waves  died 
at  its  foot. 

"  A  rock,  then,  is  my  superior,"  said  the  cloud ;  "  I  would 
rather  be  in  its  place." 

"  Thou  shalt  be,"  said  the  angel. 

And  he  was  transformed  into  a  steep  unshaken  rock,  insen- 
sible to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  indifferent  to  the  torrents  of  rain 
and  the  shock  of  the  tumultuous  waves. 

Nevertheless,  he  distinguished  at  his  feet  a  man  of  poor 
appearance,  hardly  clothed,  but  armed  with  a  chisel  and  a  ham- 
mer; and  the  man,  with  the  help  of  these  implements,  struck 
off  pieces  of  the  rock,  which  he  dressed  into  stones  proper  for 
cutting. 

"  What  is  that? "  cried  the  rock;  "  has  a  man  the  power  of 
rending  pieces  of  stone  from  my  breast?  Shall  I  be  weaker 
than  he?  Then  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  be  that 
man." 

"  Have  thy  will,"  said  the  angel. 

And  he  became  again  what  he  had  been — a  poor  stone-cutter, 


14 

a  simple  workman  in  the  quarries.  His  life  was  rude,  he 
worked  much,  and  gained  little;  but  he  was  contented  with 
his  lot. 

BAYARD   TAYLOR. 


cav"a-liers',  knights  or  horsemen. 
ex-hausts',  tires  out. 
in"ter-cept'ed,  obstructed,  cut  off. 
dis-tin'guished,  recognized,  or  saw. 


tu-mul'tu-ous,  with  great  noise. 
dev'as-ta"ted,  laid  waste. 
im'ple-ments,  tools. 
re-splen'dent,  shining. 


BAYARD  TAYLOR  (1825-78)  was  a  famous  American  poet  and 
novelist.  He  was  also  a  great  traveler,  much  of  his  traveling  being  done 
on  foot.  In  the  course  of  his  wanderings  he  visited  almost  every  country 
on  the  globe;  and  the  letters  that  he  wrote  to  the. American  papers  about 
foreign  lands  are  very  entertaining.  He  published  some  novels,  many 
books  of  travel  and  of  poetry,  and  translated  Goethe's  "Faust"  into 
English.  "Boys  of  Other  Countries"  is  a  book  of  great  interest  to  boys. 
He  was  secretary  of  the  Legation  at  St.  Petersburg  in  1862-63,  and  in  1873 
was  appointed  United  States  Minister  to  Germany.     He  died  at  Berlin. 


THE    NIGHT    HAS   A   THOUSAND    EYES 

The  night  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  day  but  one ; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  bright  world  dies 

With  the  dying  sun. 


The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  heart  but  one ; 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies 

When  love  is  done. 

FRANCIS  WILLIAM  BOURDILLON. 


15 


OLD    IRONSIDES 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more ! 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee ; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea. 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  God  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale. 

OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 
en'sign,  the  national  flag  of  a  ship.   |   har'pies,  vulture-like  birds  of  fable. 


16 


THE    FOOLISH    LITTLE    AIR-CURRENT 


The  cyclone  was  caused  by  an  area  of  low  pressure  which 
was  central,  last  night  at  nine  o'clock,  over  the  Great  Lakes. 

— The  Morning  Papers. 
This  is  the  story  of  the  foolish  little  air-current  that  at  one 
time  was  part  of  a  big  cyclone — a  very  foolish  little  air-current ! 
For  days  and  weeks,  and  ever  since  the  little  air-current 
could  remember,  they  had  been  circling  round  and  round — 
all  the  big  and  little  air-currents  up  there  together — in  long, 
graceful  turns,  with  the  sun  shining  down  through  them,  and 

glinting  and  glistening  on 
the  dancing,  dazzling  water 
far,  far  below. 

The  water  was  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  but  of  course 
the  little  air-current  did  not 
know  that.  He  and  his 
brothers  were  just  plain,  ig- 
norant little  currents,  and 
had  never  seen  land. 
But  they  used  to  have  a  great  deal  of  fun  floating  round  and 
round  all  the  long,  lazy  day,  with  the  sun  glinting  through 
them.  The  little  air-current  had  a  foolish  idea  that  this  was 
what  he  was  going  to  do  all  his  life,  if  he  thought  about  it  at 
all,  and  one  day  he  remarked,  in  the  hearing  of  one  of  the 
bigger  currents,  "  My !  we're  going  pretty  fast  to-day." 

"  Do  you  call  this  fast?  "  put  in  one  of  the  big  ones.     "  Huh, 
just  you  wait  until  we  get  under  way !  " 


THE   LITTLE  AIR-CURRENT     STARTING 


17 

"  We'll  be  starting  soon/'  he  heard  one  say  to  another.  The 
big  ones  all  have  hoarse  voices. 

"  Which  direction  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  little  air-currents. 

"  North,  of  course.     Are  you  crazy?  " 

"  North  is  the  only  direction  in  summer-time,"  said  another 
still  bigger  current,  kindly. 

The  little  air-current  said,  "  Of  course,  north,"  although  he 
did  not  know  anything  about  it. 

And  the  next  day  came  the  word  to  move. 

"  There's  an  area  of  low  pressure  up  over  the  Gulf  States," 
some  one  said ;  "  that's  what  starts  us.  We  are  to  go  and 
fill  it  up." 

"  Yes,  we  must  go  to  fill  it  up,"  said  the  foolish  little  air- 
current. 

"  Come  on,  we're  going  now;  "  said  all  the  big  air-currents, 
darting  and  turning  more  quickly. 

"  Come  on !  "  cried  the  little  one,  excitedly. 

"  Get  in  line  there !  "  shouted  one  of  the  big  ones.  And 
just  then  off  shot  the  big  circling  volume  of  air,  a  little  to  the 
east  of  north,  toward  the  state  of  Mississippi.  It  was  still  re- 
volving round  and  round,  but  making  rapid  forward  progress 
now  at  the  same  time,  like  a  spinning  top  that  darts  off  to 
one  side.  And  the  faster  it  went  ahead,  the  faster  it  whirled 
round. 

"  Oh,  dear!  "  cried  the  little  air-current,  really  quite  fright- 
ened.    "  Where  are  we  going?  " 

"Hold  on  tight!  "  cried  the  big  air-currents.  "If  you  let 
go,  you  will  be  lost !  "  They,  too,  were  a  little  frightened,  but 
pretended  that  they  were  not.  They  were  not  going  half  so 
fast  as  they  would  be  going  by  and  by. 

Soon  they  came  over  the  land,  and  now  they  swooped  down 


18 

lower.  "Ugh!  what's  that  ugly  rough  stuff?"  screamed  the 
little  air-current. 

"  Land !  "  whistled  one  of  the  larger  currents.  "  Land ! 
land!  "  roared  the  biggest  currents.  "Land!  land!  "  they  all 
screamed  and  whistled  and  roared  together.  "  We'll  tear  it 
up!  "  Now  they  began  to  go  faster  and  faster.  The  little  air- 
current  did  not  say  anything  more  for  a  while;  he  just  looked 
scared  and  whirled  round  as  the  others  were  doing. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  game  ? "  he  cried  to  a  big  current, 
once  in  a  lull. 

"  Game !  "  replied  the  other  contemptuously.  "  This  is  no 
game.  We  are  a  cyclone  now !  "  He  hissed  the  word  "  cy- 
clone." 

"  Oh,  are  we  a  cyclone  ? "  It  is  the  ambition  of  an  air-cur- 
rent's life  to  be  part  of  a  cyclone.  "  I'm  a  cyclone,"  he  re- 
peated to  himself.  "  Just  think !  "  and  he  dashed  down  among 
some  trees  that  were  waving  and  tossing  their  branches  wildly 
and  helplessly. 


cy'clone,  a  whirling  storm, 
glinting,  glittering. 


con- temp'tu-ous-ly,  in   a  scornful 

manner. 
am-bi'tion,  eager  desire. 


THE    FOOLISH    LITTLE   AIR-CURRENT 

II 

Faster  and  faster  they  went,  and  now  they  came  to  a  farm- 
house, which  they  picked  up,  turned  round,  and  put  down  on 
the  same  foundation,  only  backward.  Fields  of  corn  were  up- 
rooted.     Streams  boiled.     Here  was   a  town.      Now  houses 


19 

began  to  fall  and  shatter.  Eoofs  were  lifted  off,  rolled  up,  and 
dropped  on  pitiful  trees.  Trees  were  picked  up  and  slapped 
against  church  steeples,  which  broke.  Houses  were  twisted. 
Factories  tottered  and  tumbled.    And  it  was  all  so  easily  done. 

But  the  cyclone  did  not  stop  to  look.  It  just  tore  on  and 
on  to  the  next  town, 
sometimes  skipping 
over  one  village  en- 
tirely, only  to  plunge 
down  and  entirely 
demolish  the  next. 

All  this  time  there 
was  roaring  and  wild 
howling,  and  the  lit- 
tle   air-current,    like 

all  the  air-currents,  was  doing  his  part  with  the  rest.  They 
forgot  to  ask  questions  now.  They  were  no  longer  frightened. 
They  had  caught  the  wild  ecstasy  of  the  storm. 

All  that  night  they  rushed  on  madly  up  the  United  States, 
howling  'and  shrieking.  It  was  no  longer  hard  for  the  little 
air-current  to  keep  up.    He  did  it  from  force  of  habit. 

With  dawn  the  storm  quieted  a  little,  and  they  had  time  to 
look  about. 

"  Oh,  didn't  we  storm? "  said  the  little  air-current.  "  I  tell 
you  I  knocked  over  some  big  trees !  "  Just  then  he  let  go  to 
turn  round  and  see  who  listened.  It  is  always  foolish  to  turn 
round  in  a  cyclone. 

"  Keep  still  and  come  on !  "  whistled  one  of  the  big  currents. 

"  Oh,  wait !  "  cried  the  little  air-current.  "  Wait — wait — 
oh,  I  can't  catch  up!  "  he  whispered. 

He  saw  now,  already  quite  far  off  in  the  distance,  the  cyclone 


20 

twisting  ahead  in  its  quiet,  earnest  manner,  with  his  little 
brothers  working  hard,  as  if  they  all  knew  just  what  they  meant 
to  do  and  were  doing  it,  while  he  was  whisked  quickly  over  a 
hill,  across  a  river,  and  then  right  into  the  street  of  a  great  city. 

Without  having  an  idea  of  what  he  was  doing,  he  darted  up 
between  two  high  buildings,  on  up  the  street  between  other 
high  buildings,  across  a  park,  over  a  wall,  and  into  a  street 
where  people  lived.  They  were  just  getting  up.  A  few  were 
coming  out-of-doors. 

He  was  so  weak  by  this  time  that  the  best  he  could  do  was 
to  take  a  man's  hat  off*.  The  man  ran  after  it,  while  the  little 
air-current  went  on  ahead  of  the  hat  until  he  came  to  a  large 
house  with  trees  in  front.  He  turned  in  and  ran  through  the 
tree-tops  with  all  his  might,  but  he  noticed  that  he  could  only 
make  the  leaves  rustle,  rather  pleasantly. 

Then  before  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  had  darted  in 
;hrough  an  open  window,  fluttering  the  curtains  a  little,  and 
glided  across  the  room  to  a  bed  where  lay  a  baby  quietly  sleep- 
ing.    Then  the  baby  sneezed. 

"  Nurse,"  said  a  lady,  "  please  go  and  cover  the  baby  up. 
He  is  in  a  draft." 

"  And  to  think,"  sighed  the  little  air-current,  who  was  once 
part  of  a  big  cyclone,  "  that  I  can  now  only  make  a  baby 
sneeze." 

JESSE  LYNCH  WILLIAMS. 

ec'sta-sy,  the  highest  joy.  |   de-mol'ish,  utterly  destroy. 

JESSE  LYNCH  WILLIAMS  was  born  in  Sterling,  111.,  and  was 
graduated  from  Princeton.  He  has  written  "Adventures  of  a  Freshman  " 
and  also  a  history  of  Princeton  University.  The  "Stolen  Story"  is  the 
title  of  a  collection  of  his  short  stories. 


21 


THE   WIND   AND   THE   MOON 

Said  the  Wind  to  the  Moon,  "  I  will  blow  you  out ! 

You  stare 

In  the  air 

Like  a  ghost  in  the  chair, 
Always  looking  what  I  am  about — 
I  hate  to  be  watched ;  I'll  blow  you  out." 

The  Wind  blew  hard,  and  out  went  the  Moon ; 

So  deep 

On  a  heap 

Of  cloudless  sleep 
Down  lay  the  Wind,  and  slumbered  soon, 
Muttering  low,  "  I've  done  for  that  Moon." 

He  turned  in  his  bed ;  she  was  there  again ! 

On  high 

In  the  sky, 

With  her  ghost  eye, 
The  Moon  shone  white  and  alive  and  plain; 
Said  the  Wind,  "  I'll  blow  you  out  again." 

He  blew,  and  he  blew,  and  the  thread  was  gone. 

In  the  air 

Nowhere 

Was  a  moonbeam  bare; 
Far  off  and  silent  the  shy  stars  shone — 
Sure  and  certain  the  Moon  was  gone ! 


The  Wind  he  took  to  his  revels  once  more ; 

On  down, 

In  town, 

Like  a  merry,  mad  clown, 
He  leaped  and  hallooed  with  whistle  and  roar ; 
"  What's  that  %  " — The  glittering  thread  once  more. 


He  flew  in  a  rage — he  danced  and  he  blew ; 
But  in  vain 
Was  the  pain 
Of  his  bursting  brain; 
For  still  broader  the  moon-scrap  grew, 
The  broader  he  swelled  his  big  cheeks  and  blew. 


Slowly  she  grew — till  she  filled  the  night, 

And  shone 

On  her  throne 

In  the  sky  alone, 
A  matchless,  wonderful,  silvery  light, 
Radiant  and  lovely,  the  queen  of  the  night. 


Said  the  Wind :  "  What  a  marvel  of  power  am  I ! 
With  my  breath, 
Good  faith 

I  blew  her  to  death — 
First  blew  her  away  right  out  of  the  sky — 
Then  blew  her  in ;  what  a  strength  am  I ! " 


23 

But  the  Moon  she  knew  nothing  about  the  affair, 
For,  high 
In  the  sky, 

With  her  one  white  eye, 
Motionless,  miles  above  the  air, 
She  had  never  heard  the  great  Wind  blare. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 
rev'els,  sports,  tricks.  |  mar'vel,  a  wonder. 


DOG-SLEIGHING    IN    THE    NORTH 


Winter-travel  in  Kamchatka  is  done  entirely  upon  dog- 
sledges.  In  no  other  pursuit  do  the  people  of  that  country 
spend  more  time  or  show  their  native  skill  to  better  advantage. 

There  is  probably  no  more  hardy  animal  in  the  world  than 
their  dog.  You  may  compel  him  to  sleep  out  on  the  snow  in 
the  coldest  weather ;  you  may  drive  him  with  heavy  loads  until 
his  feet  crack  open  and  print  the  snow  with  blood;  you  may 
starve  him  until  he  eats  up  his  harness;  but  his  strength  and 
spirit  alike  seem  unbroken. 

I  have  driven  a  team  of  nine  dogs  more  than  a  hundred 
miles  in  a  day  and  a  night.  I  have  often  worked  them  hard 
for  forty-eight  hours  without  being  able  to  give  them  a  bite 
of  food.  They  are  generally  fed,  once  a  day,  a  single  dried 
fish,  weighing  a  pound  and  a  half  or  two  pounds.  This  is 
given  to  them  at  night. 

The  sledge  to  which  they  are  harnessed  is  about  ten  feet  in 


24 

length  and  two  in  width.     It  is  made  with  seasoned  birch  tim- 
ber, and  combines  strength  and  lightness. 

The  frame  work  of  the  sledge  is  fastened  together  with  lash- 
ings of  dried  seal-skin,  and  is  mounted  on  broad  curved  run- 


TRAVELING  IN  WINTER  IN  THE  POLAR  REGIONS 


ners.  No  iron  is  used  in  making  it,  and  it  does  not  weigh  more 
than  twenty  pounds;  yet  it  will  carry  a  load  of  four  hundred 
pounds. 

Under  favorable  circumstances  eleven  dogs  will  make  from 
forty  to  fifty  miles  a  day  with  a  man  and  a  load  of  four  hundred 
pounds.  They  are  harnessed  to  the  sledge  in  couples  by  a  long 
central  thong  of  seal-skin.  To  this  thong  each  dog  is  fastened 
by  a  collar  and  a  short  trace.  They  are  guided  and  controlled 
entirely  by  the  voice  and  by  a  dog  called  a  leader,  which  is 
especially  trained  for  the  purpose. 


25 

The  driver  carries  no  whip.  Instead,  he  has  a  stick  about 
four  feet  in  length  and  two  inches  in  thickness.  This  is  armed 
at  one  end  with  a  long  iron  spike,  and  is  used  to  check  the 
speed  of  the  sledge  in  going  down  hills.  The  stick  may  also  be 
used  to  stop  the  dogs  when  they  leave  the  road,  as  they  fre- 
quently do  to  run  after  reindeer  and  foxes. 

The  art  of  driving  a  dog-team  is  one  of  the  most  deceptive 
in  the  world.  The  traveler  imagines  at  first  sight  that  driving 
a  dog-sledge  is  just  as  easy  as  driving  a  horse-car.  At  the  very 
first  favorable  chance  he  tries  it. 

After  being  run  away  with  the  first  ten  minutes,  capsized 
into  a  snow-drift,  and  having  his  sledge  dragged  bottom  up- 
ward a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  road,  the  rash  experimenter 
begins  to  see  that  the  task  is  not  quite  so  easy  as  he  had  sup- 
posed. In  less  than  one  day  he  is  generally  convinced,  by  hard 
experience,  that  a  dog-driver,  like  a  poet,  is  born,  not  made. 

pur-suit',  occupation.  I   de-cep'tive,  misleading. 

thong,  a  leather  strap.  I  cap-sized',  overturned. 


DOG-SLEIGHING    IN    THE    NORTH 

II 

I  had  watched  every  motion  of  my  Korak  driver.  I 
thought  that  I  had  learned  the  manner  of  thrusting  the  spiked 
stick  between  the  upright  of  the  runners  into  the  snow,  to  act 
as  a  brake.  I  had  also  committed  to  memory  and  practiced 
the  hoarse  cries  that  meant,  in  dog-language,  "  right "  and 
"  left,"  as  well  as  many  others  that  meant  something  else.     I 


26 

soon  believed  that  I  could  drive  as  well  as  a  Korak,  if  not 
better. 

Seating  myself  firmly  astride  of  the  sledge  back  of  the  arch. 
I  shouted  to  the  dogs.  My  voice  failed  to  produce  the  startling 
effect  that  I  had  hoped  for.  Then  I  hurled  my  spiked  stick 
like  a  harpoon  at  the  leader,  intending  to  have  it  fall  so  that 
I  could  pick  it  up  as  the  sledge  passed.  The  dog,  however, 
dodged  it  cleverly,  and  it  rolled  away  ten  feet  from  the  road. 

Just  at  that  moment  three  or  four  wild  reindeer  bounded 
out  from  behind  a  little  rise  of  ground  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  away.  They  galloped  across  the  plain  toward  a  deep 
ravine,  through  which  ran  a  branch  of  the  river.  The  dogs, 
true  to  their  wolfish  nature,  started  in  pursuit  with  fierce  ex- 
cited howls.  I  made  a  grasp  at  my  spiked  stick  as  we  rushed 
past,  but  failed  to  reach  it. 

Away  we  went  over  the  snow  toward  the  ravine.  Half  the 
time  the  sledge  was  on  one  runner,  and  was  rebounding  from 
the  hard  drifts  with  a  force  that  shook  me  terribly. 

Without  the  spiked  stick  we  were  helpless,  and  in  a  moment 
we  were  left  on  the  edge  of  the  ravine.  I  shut  my  eyes,  clung 
tightly  to  the  arch,  and  took  the  plunge.  The  slope  became 
suddenly  steeper,  and  the  leader  swung  to  one  side,  bringing 
the  sledge  around  like  the  lash  of  a  whip,  and  shooting  me 
through  the  air  into  a  deep  drift  of  snow  at  the  bottom. 

I  must  have  fallen  at  least  eighteen  feet.  I  was  entirely 
buried  with  the  exception  of  my  legs,  which,  above  the  snow, 
kicked  a  faint  signal  for  rescue.  Weighed  down  with  heavy 
furs,  I  had  hard  work  to  pull  myself  out.  As  I  at  last  crept 
out  of  the  drift  with  three  pints  of  snow  down  my  neck,  I  saw 
the  round  face  of  my  driver  smiling  at  me  through  the  bushes 
on  the  edge  of  the  bluff. 


27 

"  Oona,"  he  hailed. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  snowy  figure  standing  waist-high  in  the 
drift. 

"  Amerikanski  nyett  dobra  kiour,  eh  ?  "  (American  no  good 
driver). 

"  Nyett  sofsem  dobra  "  (Not  very  good),  was  the  sorrowful 
reply  as  I  waded  out. 

The  sledge  had  become  tangled  in  the  bushes  near  me,  and 
the  dogs  were  all  howling  in  chorus,  nearly  wild  because  they 
were  stopped.  I  was  so  far  satisfied  with  my  experiment,  that  I 
did  not  desire  to  repeat  it  for  a  time.  I,  therefore,  made  no 
objection  to  the  Korak's  going  back  to  his  old  position. 

GEORGE  KENNAN  {Adapted). 


ra-vine',  a  deep  valley  with  steep  I  ex-per'i-ment-er,  one  who  makes  a 
sides.  I  trial. 


GEORGE  KENNAN  (1845-  )  is  an  American  writer  and  lecturer. 
He  has  traveled  extensively  in  the  Russian  Empire  and  the  East,  and 
has  written  "Siberia  and  the  Exile  System"  and  "Tent-life  in  Siberia 
and  Adventures  Among  the  Koraks,"  from  which  latter  work  this  story 
is  taken  by  permission  of  the  Century  Company. 

Write  your  own  experience  in  learning  to  do  something  ;  as,  to  skate,  fty 
a  kite,  ride  or  drive  a  horse,  bake  a  cake,  cook  a  dinner,  row  a  boat. 
Make  a  plan  for  your  story ;  as,  Learning  to  Skate. 

1.  My  home  not  near  water. 

2.  A  winter  visit  to  friends  near  a  lake. 

3.  Meeting  boys  and  girls  who  skated  well. 

4.  The  pleasure  that  skating  seemed  to  offer. 

5.  My  arrangements  for  learning. 

6.  Early  experiences :  a.  Fortunate ;  b.  Unfortunate. 

7.  Later  experiences. 

8.  Advantages  in  knowing  how  to  skate. 


28 


TWO    MINUTES 


He  was  a  third  lieutenant  in  the  engineers.  It  was  after  the 
great  mine  explosion  at  Petersburg,  and  the  engineers  were 
at  that  time  busily  engaged  in  using  all  their  devices  for  the  dis- 
covery of  other  mines.  They  had  found  one  in  process  of  con- 
struction in  front  of  General  Grade's  lines. 

They  had  proceeded  at  once  to  run  a  deeper  tunnel  under 
this  one.  They  had  loaded  the  end  of  it,  just  underneath  the 
enemy's  works,  with  an  incredible  amount  of  gunpowder,  and 
on  that  morning  it  was  to  be  fired.  A  slow-match  had  been 
brought  from  the  powder  to  the  mouth  of  the  mine.  It  was 
lighted,  and  a  period  of  waiting  ensued. 

The  match  had  evidently  gone  out.  Where,  nobody  knew 
or  could  guess.  The  general  in  command  of  that  part  of  the 
line  turned  to  the  captain  of  engineers  and  said :  "  The  mine 
must  be  blown  up  at  once ;  will  you  go  in  and  light  the  match 
again  ? " 

The  captain  hesitated,  saying:  "  I  don't  know;  it  may  go  off 
at  any  moment." 

Thereupon  the  third  lieutenant  stepped  forward,  touched  his 
cap  to  the  general,  and  said:  "  With  your  permission,  I  will  go 
in  and  fire  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  general;  "  go." 

The  man  picked  up  the  torch  and  started  into  the  mine.  It 
seems  that  the  slow-match  had  gone  out  within  a  very  short 
distance  of  the  powder  magazine.  But  disregarding  that,  he 
touched  the  torch  to  it,  set  it  off  again,  and  ran  with  all  his 
might  for  the  mouth  of  the  opening. 

It  was  two  minutes'  work.     The  mine  went  off  just  before 


29 

he  reached  the  outlet,  and  the  air  pressure  literally  blew  him 
out  of  it.  He  fell  sprawling  on  his  face.  He  was  considerably 
bruised  and  scratched  in  his  contact  with  the  gravelly  ground, 
but  he  was  not  in  any  serious  way  injured. 

Picking  himself  up,  grimed  as  he  was,  he  took  off  his  cap, 
and  dusting  himself  like  a  school-boy  that  had  fallen  in  the 
street,  he  approached  the  commanding  officer  and  said :  "  Gen- 
eral, I  have  the  honor  to  report  that  I  have  fired  the  mine,  and 
that  it  has  gone  off." 

The  general  touched  his  cap  and  replied:  "I  had  observed 
that  fact,  and  I  thank  you  very  much.  I  beg  to  say  that  I  will 
make  an  official  report  of  the  circumstance." 

Two  days  later  we  all  touched  our  caps  to  a  freshly  made 
brigadier-general  of  the  engineers.  The  captain  that  had  hesi- 
tated remained  a  captain. 

GEORGE  CARY  EGGLESTOM 

[Acknowledgment  is  made  to  the  MacmUlan  Company  for  the  use  of  this  selection.] 

mine,  powder  placed  under  ground   |    in-cred'i-ble,  not  to  be  believed, 
or  under  water  and  exploded.    |   lit/er-a!-ly,  really ;  actually. 

Who  wrote  this  story?  What  does  the  author  say  that  the  general  first  said? 
What  was  the  captain's  answer?     What  did  the  lieutenant  say? 

When  a  writer  gives  the  words  used  by  a  speaker,  what  are  those  words 
called?  With  what  kind  of  letter  does  the  first  word  of  a  direct  quotation  be- 
gin?    What  marks  are  used  to  inclose  a  direct  quotation? 

If  other  words  come  between  the  parts  of  a  direct  quotation,  how  are  the 
parts  of  the  quotation  inclosed?  By  what  mark  are  the  words  that  come 
between  generally  set  off? 

Copy,  and  notice  the  punctuation:  1.  "Thou  shalt  be,"  said  the  angel. 
2.  "Do  you  eat  gold  in  this  country?"  asked  Alexander.  3.  "Oh,  no," 
replied  Alexander,  "but  it  astonishes  me."  4.  "And  thou,"  said  the 
judge,  turning  to  the  other,  "a  daughter?"  5.  The  air-current  said,  "Of 
course,  north,"  although  he  did  not  know. 


30 


LITTLE    GIFFEN 


Out  of  the  focal  and  foremost  fire, 
Out  of  the  hospital  walls  as  dire; 
Smitten  of  grape-shot  and  gangrene, 
(Eighteenth  battle,  and  he  sixteen!) 
Specter !  such  as  you  seldom  see, 
Little  Giffen,  of  Tennessee ! 

"  Take  him  and  welcome !  "  the  surgeons  said ; 
"  Little  the  doctor  can  help  the  dead !  " 
So  we  took  him ;  and  brought  him  where 
The  balm  was  sweet  in  the  summer  air ; 
And  we  laid  him  down  on  a  wholesome  bed,- — 
Utter  Lazarus,  heel  to  head ! 

And  we  watched  the  war  with  abated  breath, — 
Skeleton  Boy  against  Skeleton  Death. 
Months  of  torture,  how  many  such  ? 
Weary  weeks  of  the  stick  and  crutch ; 
And  still  a  glint  of  the  steel-blue  eye 
Told  of  a  spirit  that  wouldn't  die, 

And  didn't.     Nay,  more !  in  death's  despite 
The  crippled  skeleton  "  learned  to  write." 
"  Dear  Mother,"  at  first,  of  course ;  and  then 
"  Dear  Captain,"  inquiring  about  the  men. 
Captain's  answer :  "  Of  eighty-and-five, 
Giffen  and  I  are  left  alive." 


31 

Word  of  gloom  from  the  war,  one  day ; 

Johnston  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say. 

Little  Giffen  was  up  and  away; 

A  tear — his  first — as  he  bade  good-by, 

Dimmed  the  glint  of  his  steel-blue  eye. 

"  I'll  write,  if  spared  !  "     There  was  news  of  the  fight ; 

But  none  of  Giffen. — He  did  not  write. 

I  sometimes  fancy  that,  were  I  king 

Of  the  princely  Knights  of  the  Golden  Ring, 

With  the  song  of  the  minstrel  in  mine  ear, 

And  the  tender  legend  that  trembles  here, 

I'd  give  the  best  on  his  bended  knee, 

The  whitest  soul  of  my  chivalry, 

For  "  Little  Giffen,"  of  Tennessee. 

FRANCIS  0.  TICKNOR. 


fo'cal,  central. 

grape'shot,  small  iron  balls. 

gan'grene,  a  disease  in  which  the 
flesh  decays. 

spec'ter,  a  ghost. 

sur'geon,  a  doctor  who  uses  instru- 
ments in  the  treatment  of  dis- 
eases or  injuries. 


tor'ture,  severe  pain  inflicted. 
min'strel,  a  man  who  sang  of  brave 

deeds. 
leg'end,  a  story  of  old  times. 
chiv'al-ry,  here,  the  entire  body  of 

knights ;  also  valor,  courtesy. 
gloom,  darkness;  used  here  in  the 

sense  of  sad  news. 


DR.  FRANCIS  0.  TICKNOR  (1822-74)  was  a  Southern  physician 
who  lived  near  Columbus,  Ga.  Professor  Barrett  Wendell  in  his  "  Literary 
History  of  America"  speaks  of  this  simple  little  ballad  with  warm  praise. 
The  Johnston  referred  to  in  the  next  to  the  last  stanza  of  "Little  Giffen" 
was  General  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  who  was  killed  in  the.battle  of  Shiloh. 


Make  a  plan,  and  write  in  prose  the  story  of  "Little  Giffen." 


32 


THE    MINNOWS    WITH    SILVER    TAILS 

"  I'm  sick  of  being  at  another  mans  beck  and  call,"  said 
Tom  Turner  impatiently.  "  It's  i  Tom  do  this/  and  '  Tom  do 
that/  and  nothing  but  work,  work,  work,  from  Monday  morn- 
ing till  Saturday  night. 

"  I  was  thinking  as  I  walked  over  to  Squire  Morton's  to  ask 
for  the  turnip  seed  for  master, — I  was  thinking,  Sally,  that  I 
am  nothing  but  a  poor  workingman  after  all.  In  short,  I'm 
a  slave;  and  my  spirit  won't  stand  it." 

So  saying,  Tom  flung  himself  out  at  the  cottage  door,  and 
his  wife  thought  that  he  was  going  back  to  his  work  as  usual ; 
but  she  was  mistaken.  He  walked  to  the  wood,  and  there,  when 
he  came  to  the  border  of  a  little  tinkling  stream,  he  sat  down 
and  began  to  brood  over  his  grievances. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Tom  to  himself,  "  it's  much 
pleasanter  sitting  here  in  the  shade,  than  broiling  over  celery 
trenches,  and  thinning  wall  fruit,  with  a  baking  sun  at  one's 
back,  and  a  hot  wall  before  one's  eyes.  But  I'm  a  miserable 
slave.  I  must  either  work  or  see  my  family  starve ;  a  very  hard 
lot  it  is  to  be  a  workingman." 

"  Ahem,"  said  a  voice  close  to  him. 

Tom  started,  and  to  his  great  surprise,  saw  a  small  man, 
about  the  size  of  his  own  baby,  standing  composedly  at  his  elbow. 
The  man  was  dressed  in  green, — green  hat,  green  coat,  and 
green  shoes.  He  had  very  bright  black  eyes,  which  twinkled 
very  much,  as  he  looked  at  Tom  and  smiled. 

"  Servant,  sir !  "  said  Tom,  edging  himself  a  little  farther 
off. 

"  Miserable  slave,"  said  the  small  man,  "  are  you  so  far  lost 


33 

to  the  noble  sense  of  freedom,  that  your  very  salutation  ac- 
knowledges a  mere  stranger  as  your  master  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you,"  said  Tom,  "  and  how  dare  you  call  me  a 
slave?" 

"  Tom,"  said  the  small  man,  "  don't  speak  roughly.     Keep 


your  rough  words  for  your  wife,  my  man ;  she  is  bound  to  hear 
them, — what  else  is  she  for,  in  fact?  " 

"  I'll  thank  you  to  let  my  affairs  alone,"  interrupted  Tom, 
shortly. 

"  Tom,  I'm  your  friend ;  I  think  that  I  can  help  you  out  of 
your  difficulty.  Every  minnow  in  this  stream — they  are  very 
scarce,  mind  you — has  a  silver  tail." 


34 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  opening  his  eyes  very 
wide.  "  Fishing  for  minnows  and  being  one's  own  master 
would  be  much  pleasanter  than  the  sort  of  life  I've  been  lead- 
ing this  many  a  day." 

"  Well,  keep  the  secret  as  to  where  you  get  them,  and  much 
good  may  it  do  you,"  said  the  man  in  green.  "  Farewell;  I  wish 
you  joy  in  your  freedom."  So  saying,  he  walked  away,  leaving 
Tom  on  the  brink  of  the  stream,  full  of  joy  and  pride. 

He  went  to  his  master  and  told  him  that  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity for  bettering  himself,  and  should  not  work  for  him  any 
longer. 

The  next  day,  he  arose  with  the  dawn,  and  went  in  search 
of  minnows.  But  of  all  the  minnows  in  the  world,  never  were 
any  others  so  nimble  as  those  with  silver  tails.  They  were 
very  shy,  too,  and  had  as  many  turns  and  doubles  as  a  hare; 
what  a  life  they  led  him ! 

They  made  him  troll  up  the  stream  for  miles;  then,  just  as 
he  thought  his  chase  was  at  an  end  and  he  was  sure  of  them, 
they  would  leap  quite  out  of  the  water,  and  dart  down  the 
stream  again  like  silver  arrows.  Miles  and  miles  he  went, 
tired,  wet,  and  hungry.  He  came  home  late  in  the  evening, 
wearied  and  footsore,  with  only  three  minnows  in  his  pocket, 
but  each  had  a  silver  tail. 

"  But,  at  any  rate,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  lay  down  in 
his  bed,  "  though  they  lead  me  a  pretty  life,  and  I  have  to  work 
harder  than  ever,  yet  I  certainly  am  free;  no  man  can  now 
order  me  about." 

This  went  on  for  a  whole  week;  he  worked  very  hard;  but 
up  to  Saturday,  he  had  caught  only  fourteen  minnows. 

After  all,  however,  his  fish  were  really  great  curiosities; 
and  when  he  had  exhibited  them  all  over  the  town,  set  them 


35 

out  in  all  lights,  praised  their  perfections,  and  taken  immense 
pains  to  conceal  his  impatience  and  ill  temper,  he,  at  length, 
contrived  to  sell  them  all,  and  get  exactly  fourteen  shillings 
for  them,  and  no  more. 

"  Now,  Til  tell  you,  Tom  Turner,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I've 
found  out  this  afternoon,  and  I  don't  mind  your  knowing  it, — 
that  every  one  of  those  customers  was  your  master.  Why! 
you  were  at  the  beck  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  who 
came  near  you'; — obliged  to  be  in  good  temper,  too,  which  was 
very  annoying." 

"  True,  Tom,"  said  the  man  in  green,  starting  up  in  his  path, 
"  I  knew  you  were  a  man  of  sense ;  look  you,  you  are  all 
workingmen;  and  you  must  all  please  your  customers.  Your 
master  was  your  customer;  what  he  bought  of  you  was  your 
work.  "Well,  you  must  let  the  work  be  such  as  will  please  the 
customer." 

"  All  workingmen?  How  do  you  make  that  out?  "  said  Tom, 
chinking  the  fourteen  shillings  in  his  hand.  "  Is  my  master  a 
workingman;  and  has  he  a  master  of  his  own?    Nonsense!  " 

"No  nonsense  at  all;  he  works  with  his  head,  keeps  his 
books,  and  manages  his  great  mills.  He  has  many  masters; 
else  why  was  he  nearly  ruined  last  year? " 

"  He  was  nearly  ruined,  because  he  made  some  new-fangled 
kinds  of  patterns  at  his  works,  and  people  would  not  buy  them," 
said  Tom.  "  Well,  in  a  way  of  speaking,  then,  he  works  to 
please  his  masters,  poor  fellow!  He  is,  as  one  may  say,  a  fel- 
low-servant, and  plagued  with  very  awkward  masters.  So  I 
should  not  mind  his  being  my  master,  and  I  think  that  I  shall 
go  and  tell  him  so." 

"  I  would,  Tom,"  said  the  man  in  green.  "  Tell  him  that 
you  have  no  objection  now  to  digging  up  the  asparagus  bed." 


36 

So  Tom  trudged  home  to  his  wife,  gave  her  the  money  that 
he  had  earned,  and  got  his  old  master  to  take  him  back.  His 
adventure  with  the  man  in  green  and  the  fish  with  the  silver 
tails,  however,  he  kept  a  profound  secret. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


griev'an-ces,  causes  for  complaint. 
com-po^ed-ly,  quietly. 
8al"u-ta'tion,  greeting. 
ac-knowl'edg-es,   admits,   or    con- 
fesses. 
op"por-tu'ni-ty,  chance. 


troll,  to  draw  a  fishing  line  through 

the  water. 
chink'ing,  rattling  with  a  metallic 

sound. 
plagued,  teased  ;  annoyed. 


JEAN  INGELOW  (1830-97),  the  poet,  was  born  at  Boston,  in  Lin- 
colnshire, England.  She  is  both  poet  and  novelist,  and  has  written  a  num- 
ber of  books  for  children.  Some  of  her  poems,  too,  are  prime  favorites 
with  young  people.  "  The  High  Tide  at  Enderby  "  and  "  Songs  of  Seven  " 
are  especially  well  liked.  "  The  Minnows  with  Silver  Tails  "  is  from 
"Stories  Told  to  a  Child."  Other  interesting  stories  are  "  Mopsa  the 
Fairy,"  "  The  Golden  Opportunity,"  "  The  Moorish  Gold." 


QUEEN    MAB 

A  little  fairy  comes  at  night,     . 

Her  eyes  are  blue,  her  hair  is  brown, 
With  silver  spots  upon  her  wings, 

And  from  the  moon  she  flutters  down. 


She  has  a  little  silver  wand, 

And  when  a  good  child  goes  to  bed, 

She  waves  her  hand  from  right  to  left, 
And  makes  a  circle  round  its  head. 


37 

And  then  it  dreams  of  pleasant  things, 
Of  fountains  filled  with  fairy  fish, 

And  trees  that  bear  delicious  fruit, 
And  bow  their  branches  at  a  wish : 


Of  arbors  filled  with  dainty  scents 
From  lovely  flowers  that  never  fade ; 

Bright  flies  that  glitter  in  the  sun, 

And  glowworms  shining  in  the  shade. 

And  talking  birds  with  gifted  tongues, 
For  singing  songs  and  telling  tales, 

And  pretty  dwarfs  to  show  the  way 
Through  fairy  hills  and  fairy  dales. 

But  when  a  bad  child  goes  to  bed, 

From  left  to  right  she  weaves  her  rings, 

And  then  it  dreams  all  through  the  night 
Of  only  ugly,  horrid  things ! 

Then  lions  come  with  glaring  eyes, 
And  tigers  growl,  a  dreadful  noise, 

And  ogres  draw  their  cruel  knives, 
To  shed  the  blood  of  girls  and  boys. 

The  stormy  waves  rush  on  to  drown, 
Or  raging  flames  come  scorching  round, 

Fierce  dragons  hover  in  the  air, 

And  serpents  crawl  along  the  ground. 


38 

Then  wicked  children  wake  and  weep, 
And  wish  the  long  black  gloom  away ; 

But  good  ones  love  the  dark,  and  find 
The  night  as  pleasant  as  the  day. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

wand,  a  fairy's  rod.  t    o'gres,  giants  who  were  said  to  eat 

de-li'cious,  pleasing  to  the  taste.    '  children. 

THOMAS  HOOD  (1798-1845)  was  an  English  poet  and  humorist.  He 
also  wrote  some  tales  and  novels,  but  they  did  not  succeed  so  well  as  his 
humorous  works  and  his  poems.  Among  his  most  popular  poems  are 
"The  Song  of  the  Shirt/'  "The  Bridge  of  Sighs"  and  the  "Dream  of 
Eugene  Aram."    Some  of  his  serious  poems  are  tender  and  pathetic. 


ELIZABETH   ZANE 

In  the  autumn  of  1777  the  British  commander  of  the  West, 
Colonel  Hamilton,  resolved  to  attack  Wheeling.  For  this  pur- 
pose he  employed  a  man  named  Simon  Girty.  When  a  boy, 
Girty  had  been  captured  by  the  Indians,  and  had  joined  their 
tribes,  and  become  one  of  them. 

Collecting  about  five  hundred  Indians,  he  marched  south- 
ward from  the  Great  Lakes  toward  Kentucky.  Then  turning 
to  the  left,  he  hurried  up  the  Ohio  Kiver  to  surprise  Fort 
Henry  [Wheeling]. 

At  first  the  white  men  were  very  unfortunate,  and  many  of 
them  were  killed  outside  the  fort.  The  few  that  were  left  to 
protect  the  women  and  children  in  the  fort  determined  to  fight 
to  the  last. 

Soon  they  found  to  their  dismay  that  there  was  hardly  any 


39 

gunpowder  in  the  fort.  They  had  forgotten  the  keg  of  pow- 
der in  one  of  the  houses.  It  was  only  about  sixty  yards  away 
from  the  gate  of  the  fort,  but  how  were  they  to  get  it? 

Colonel  Shepherd,  the  commander  of  the  fort,  told  his  men 
exactly  how  the  matter  was.  He  would  not  order  any  man  to 
go  and  get  the  powder,  he  said,  as  the  Indians  were  almost 
sure  to  kill  him,  but  if  any  one  chose  to  volunteer,  he  would 
accept  the  offer. 

Three  or  four  young  men  and  boys  stepped  forward,  and 
said  that  they  would  be  willing  to  go.  One  would  do,  and  they 
must  agree  among  themselves  which  one  it  was  to  be.  One 
said  that  he  would  go,  but  another  said  that  he  would.  So  they 
disputed  and  lost  time,  until  there  was  danger  that  the  Indians 
would  renew  the  attack  before  the  white  men  came  to  any 
agreement. 

At  this  moment  a  young  lady  came  forward  and  said  that 
she  was  ready  to  go.  Her  name  was  Elizabeth  Zane,  and  she 
had  just  come  home  from  boarding-school  in  Philadelphia. 
This  made  her  brave  offer  all  the  more  remarkable  as  she  had 
not  been  trained  up  in  the  fearless  life  of  the  frontier. 

Of  course  the  men  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing.  It  was 
their  place,  they  said,  to  expose  their  lives,  not  the  place  of 
women  and  girls. 

Elizabeth  urged,  on  her  part,  that  they  could  not  spare  a 
man,  as  they  had  so  few,  but  that  the  loss  of  a  girl  would  not 
amount  to  much.  At  length,  they  reluctantly  agreed  that  she 
should  go  for  the  keg  of  powder. 

When  Elizabeth  Zane  ran  out  from  the  fort,  a  few  straggling 
Indians  were  dodging  about  three  or  four  hundred  yards  east 
of  Fort  Henry.  The  rest  of  the  savages  were  withdrawn  a 
little  in  the  woods.    They  all  saw  the  girl,  for  the  people  in  the 


40 

stockade  observed  them  looking  at  her;  but  for  some  reason 
they  did  not  fire  at  her. 

They  may  have  supposed  that  she  was  running  to  the  house 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  getting  her  clothes,  or  a  hair-brush, 
or  some  other  article  that  girls  like  to  have.  It  is  quite  as 
likely,  however,  that  they  thought  it  would  only  be  throwing 


"  THEY  LEVELED  THEIR  GUNS,  AND  SENT  A  SHOWER  OF  BULLETS  AT  HER " 

away  a  load  of  gunpowder  to  fire  at  a  girl,  who  was  of  no  use 
to  anybody. 

As  they  felt  certain  that  they  would  take  the  fort,  they  could 
easily  kill  her  afterward  with  a  tomahawk.  So  they  quietly 
looked  at  her,  and  not  a  shot  was  fired. 

As  they  were  so  anxious  to  capture  Fort  Henry,  it  would 
have  been  better  for  them  to  kill  that  girl,  for  she  was  destined 
to  save  it.     She  hastened  into  the  house,  found  the  keg  of  gun- 


41 

powder,  which  was  probably  small,  and  holding  her  precious 
load  close  to  her  breast  with  both  arms,  darted  out  again,  and 
ran  with  it  in  the  direction  of  the  fort. 

As  she  ran  the  Indians  saw  her,  and  now  understood  what 
she  had  come  for.  Uttering  a  wild  yell,  they  leveled  their 
guns,  and  sent  a  shower  of  bullets  at  her,  but  all  flew  wide  of 
the  mark.  They  whistled  to  the  right  and  left,  but  did  not 
strike  her.  With  the  keg  still  hugged  close  to  her  bosom,  she 
reached  the  fort,  and  the  gate  closed  as  the  bullets  of  the  In- 
dians buried  themselves  in  the  thick  panels  behind  her. 

A  weak  girl  had  thus  saved  a  dozen  men  and  their  wives  and 
children.  It  was  a  brave  act,  and  Americans  should  never  for- 
get to  honor  the  name  of  Elizabeth  Zane. 

JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE. 


dis-pu'ted,  argued. 

frontier',  the  border  of  a  country. 

re-luc'tant-ly,  unwillingly. 


stock-ade',  a  defense  built  around  a 

fort. 
des'tined,  intended. 


JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE  (1830-86)  was  a  Virginia  novelist  who 
wrote  stories  of  Virginia  life.  Many  of  these  were  based  on  incidents  in 
history.  "Leather  Stocking  and  Silk,"  "Surrey  of  Eagle's  Nest/'  "Fair- 
fax," and  "Henry  St.  John,  Gentleman,"  are  the  titles  of  some  of  his 
books.     He  wrote  also  the  life  of  Stonewall  Jackson  and  of  R.  E.  Lee. 


1.  The  British  commander  of  the  West,  Colonel  Hamilton,  resolved  to 
attack  Wheeling.  2.  John  Esten  Cooke,  the  author  of  this  story,  was 
a  Virginian. 

In  the  first  sentence,  Colonel  Hamilton  names  the  British  commander.  In 
the  second  sentence,  the  author  of  this  story  tells  who  is  meant  by  John 
Esten  Cooke.  Colonel  Hamilton  explains  commander,  and  author  ex- 
plains John  Esten  Cooke.  Such  explanatory  terms  are  said  to  be  in 
apposition  with  the  words  that  they  explain. 

By  what  mark  should  the  terms  in  apposition  and  their  modifiers  be  set  off? 


42 


ANNABEL    LEE 


It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee ; 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsman  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulcher 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me ; 
Yes!  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 


43 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than*  we, 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we ; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee: 

[For  the  moon  never  beams,  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling — my  darling — my  life  and  my  bride, 

In  her  sepulcher  there  by  the  sea, 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 


ser'aphs,  angels. 
cov'et-ed,  desired  eagerly. 
sep'ul-cher,  a  place  of  burial. 


de'mons,  evil  spirits. 
dis-sev'er,  separate  from. 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  (1809-49)  was  born  in  Boston.  His  father  and 
mother  were  on  the  stage.  After  the  death  of  his  mother  he  was  adopted 
by  a  wealthy  Virginian,  Mr.  John  Allan.  When  he  was  seventeen  he  ran 
away  to  Boston  and  tried  to  take  care  of  himself  by  publishing  some 
poems.  He  did  not  make  money  by  his  book,  however,  and  had  a 
hard  time  for  some  years.  At  last  he  settled  in  Baltimore,  and  supported 
himself  by  doing  editorial  work  and  writing  for  magazines.  He  did  not 
reach  the  height  of  his  fame  until  he  published  his  poem,  "The  Raven," 
about  four  years  before  his  death.  Among  his  noted  prose  tales  are 
"Arthur  Gordon  Pym,"  "The  Gold  Bug/'  and  "The  Fall  of  the  House  of 
Usher."  "The  Raven"  and  "Annabel  Lee"  are  two  of  his  most  admired 
poems.  Nearly  all  of  Poe's  writings  show  great  sensitiveness  of  feeling 
and  a  wonderful,  though  gloomy  imagination. 


44 


HOW    FRANKLIN    LEARNED    TO    WRITE 


Mr.  MattheAv  Adams,  who  had  a  pretty  collection  of  books, 
and  who  frequented  our  printing-house,  took  notice  of  me,  in- 
vited me  to  his  library,  and  very  kindly  lent  me  such  books  as 
I  chose  to  read.     I  noAv  took  a  fancy  to  poetry,  and  made  some 

little  pieces.  My 
brother,  thinking  it 
might  turn  to  ac- 
count, encouraged* 
me,  and  put  me  on 
composing  occasional 
ballads. 

One  was  called  the 
Lighthouse  Tragedy, 
and  contained  an  ac- 
count of  the  drown- 
ing of  Captain  Wor- 
thilake,  with  his  two 
daughters.  The  other 
was  a  sailor's  song, 
on  the  taking  of 
Teach  (or  Black- 
beard),  the  pirate. 

They  were  wretch- 
ed stuff,  in  the  Grub- 
Street  ballad  style;  and  when  they  were  printed,  he  sent  me 
about  the  town  to  sell  them.     The  first  sold  wonderfully,  the 
event  being  recent,  and  having  made  a  great  noise. 

This  flattered  my  vanity ;  but  my  father  discouraged  me  by 


FRANKLIN  S    PRINTING-PRESS 


45 

ridiculing  my  performances,  and  telling  me  that  verse-makers 
were  generally  beggars.  So  I  escaped  being  a  poet,  most  prob- 
ably a  very  bad  one ;  but  as  prose  writing  has  been  of  great  use 
to  me  in  the  course  of  my  life,  and  was  a  principal  means  of 
my  advancement,  I  shall  tell  you  how  I  acquired  what  little 
ability  I  have  in  that  way. 

About  this  time  I  met  with  an  odd  volume  of  the  Spectator. 
It  was  the  third.  I  had  never  before  seen  any  of  them.  I 
bought  it,  read  it  over  and  over,  and  was  much  delighted  with 
it.  I  thought  the  writing  excellent  and  wished,  if  possible,  to 
imitate  it. 

With  this  view  I  took  some  of  the  papers,  and  making  short 
hints  of  the  sentiment  in  each  sentence,  laid  them  by  a  few 
days.  Then,  without  looking  at  the  book,  I  tried  to  complete 
the  papers  again,  by  expressing  each  hinted  sentiment  at  length, 
and  as  fully  as  it  had  been  expressed  before,  in  any  suitable 
words  that  should  come  to  hand.  Then  I  compared  my  Spec- 
tator with  the  original,  discovered  some  of  my  faults,  and  cor- 
rected them. 

But  I  found  that  I  wanted  a  stock  of  words,  or  a  readiness  in 
recollecting  and  using  them.  This  I  thought  I  should  have 
acquired  before  that  time  if  I  had  gone  on  making  verses. 

In  verse  the  continual  occasion  for  words  of  the  same  value, 
but  of  different  length,  to  suit  the  measure,  or  of  different 
sound  for  the  rhyme,  would  have  laid  me  under  a  constant 
necessity  of  searching  for  variety.  Yerse  would  also  have 
tended  to  fix  that  variety  in  my  mind,  and  make  me  master 
of  it. 

Therefore  I  took  some  of  the  tales  and  turned  them  into 
verse.  After  a  time,  when  I  had  pretty  well  forgotten  the  prose, 
I  turned  them  into  prose  again. 


46 

I  also  sometimes  jumbled  my  collection  of  hints  into  con- 
fusion, and  after  some  weeks  endeavored  to  reduce  them  into 
the  best  order,  before  I  began  to  form  the  full  sentences  and 
complete  the  paper.  This  was  to  teach  me  method  in  the 
arrangement  of  thoughts. 

By  comparing  my  work  afterwards  with  the  original,  I  dis- 
covered many  faults  and  amended  them;  but  I  sometimes  had 
the  pleasure  of  fancying  that,  in  some  particulars  of  small  im- 
port, I  had  been  lucky  enough  to  improve  the  method  of  the 
language.  This  encouraged  me  to  think  that  I  might  possibly, 
in  time,  come  to  be  a  tolerable  English  writer. 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 

[Grub  Street  was  formerly  a  street  in  London,  where  many  inferior  writers 
lived  ;  hence,  poor  poetry  is  here  called  "  Grub  Street  Ballads."] 


fre-quent'ed,  often  visited. 
en-deav'ored,  tried;  attempted. 
en-cour'aged,  inspired    with    con- 
fidence. 
rid'i-cul-ing,  making  fun  of. 


torer-a-ble,  able  to  be  endured. 
ad-vance'ment,    promotion ;    prog- 
ress. 
sen'ti-ment,  thought. 
im' port,  account;  consequence. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  (1706-90),  was  a  Boston  boy,  who  became 
famous  as  an  author,  as  a  man  of  science,  and  as  a  patriot.  When  he 
was  ten  years  old  he  was  put  to  work  in  the  printing  shop  of  an  older 
brother.  He  began  to  write  for  magazines  and  newspapers,  and  finally 
was  able  to  buy  a  paper  of  his  own.  This  was  in  Philadelphia.  He  rose 
rapidly  and  became  well  known  as  a  writer  and  a  man  of  public  spirit. 
He  proved,  by  some  experiments  with  a  kite,  that  lightning  is  electricity, 
and  the  discovery  made  a  name  for  him  among  men  of  science  in  Europe. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  was  sent  to  France  as  the 
United  States  ambassador;  and  to  him  is  due  the  credit  of  persuading 
France  to  recognize  the  independence  of  the  United  States. 

His  " Autobiography "  and  "Poor  Richard's  Almanack "  contain  most 
of  his  writings. 


47 


LUCY 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove, 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise 

And  very  few  to  love : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half -hidden  from  the  eye ! 
Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  oh, 

The  difference  to  me ! 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

Copy  and  punctuate: 

1.  William  Wordsworth  the  great  English  poet  died  in  1850. 

2.  Lucy  a  maid  dwelt  beside  the  springs  of  l3ove. 

3.  Franklin  wrote  a  song  on  the  taking  of  Teach  the  Pirate. 

4.  Abbotsford  the  home  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  in  Scotland. 

5.  Little  Giffen  a  brave  young  soldier  was  from  Tennessee. 

Find  or  make  ten  sentences  containing  appositional  terms  set  off  by  the 
comma. 

When  the  appositional  term  is  so  closely  connected  as  to  be  part  of  a 
name,  it  is  not  set  off  by  commas;  as: 

1.  Alexander  the  Macedonian  came  to  a  strange  people  in  Africa. 

2.  The  dispatch-boat  Dolphin  was  making  her  way  up  the  river. 

3.  I  am  Walter  the  page. 

Find  or  make  five  sentences  containing  appositional  terms  too  closely  con- 
nected to  require  the  comma. 


48 


SALUTING    MOUNT   VERNON 

The  United  States  dispatch-boat  Dolphin  was  making  her 
way  up  the  Potomac  from  the  sea  to  Washington.  The  captain, 
navigator,  and  officer  of  the'  deck  were  on  the  bridge  piloting 
the  vessel  carefully  through  the  many  turns  and  bends  of  the 
river. 

They  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  landmarks  and  buoys,  and 
followed  the  course  of  the  ship  on  the  chart  spread  out  on  its 
stand.  The  navigator,  looking  up  from  the  chart,  turned  to 
the  captain,  who  was  trying  to  make  out  a  buoy  not  far  from 
the  ship. 

"  Mount  Vernon  is  just  ahead,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well,  call  all  hands  to  quarters,"  was  the  captain's 
reply. 

"  Sound  to  quarters,  sir."  This  to  the  officer  of  the  deck 
from  the  navigator. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir.  Bugler,  sound  to  quarters !  "  rang  out  the 
voice  of  the  young  officer. 

A  moment's  pause,  and  the  assembly  call  rang  out  over  the 
silent  current  of  the  river,  and  echoed  back  from  the  heights 
above  its  banks.  The  white  pillars  of  Washington's  beautiful 
home  flashed  out  through  the  deep  green  of  the  trees  high  above 
the  ship. 

The  officers  and  men,  hurrying  from  all  parts  of  the  vessel, 
ranged  themselves  at  their  quarter.  "  Form  on  the  port  side, 
facing  outboard !  "  came  the  sharp  order  from  the  bridge,  and 
later,  "  Sound  attention !  " 

The  bugle  again  broke  the  stillness.  The  Dolphin  was  now 
abreast  of  the  historic  home  of  the  first  chief  magistrate  of  the 


49 

country;  all  hands  were  lined  up  along  the  port  side  of  the 
ship,  standing  at  attention,  and  facing  the  shore. 

As  the  order,  "  Salute !  "  came,  sharply  cut  and  abrupt,  from 
the  bridge,  the  right  hand  of  every  officer  and  man  was  raised 
to  his  cap,  and  there  remained  while  the  ship's  bell  rang  out 
twenty-one  slow,  solemn  strokes,  one  for  each  gun  of  a  national 
salute. 

The  venerable  mansion,  with  the  white  pillars  of  its  porch, 
like  giant  sentinels  on  guard,  looked  down  from  the  heights 
through  a  framework  of  majestic  trees  to  the  river  below.  As 
a  gray-bearded  patriarch  receives  the  homage  of  youth,  so  this 
dignified  monument  to  the  first  head  of  the  government  seems 
to  receive  the  passing  salute  of  the  representation  of  the  govern- 
ment to-day. 

With  the  last  stroke  of  the  bell  came  the  order,  "  Sound  the 
retreat !  " 

The  bugle  answered,  and  as  the  last  note  came  back  from  the 
shore,  Mount  Vernon  disappeared  behind  the  green  of  the  trees. 

Every  vessel  of  war  of  the  United  States  passing  the  home 
of  Washington  observes  this  impressive  ceremony.  The  effect 
upon  one  seeing  it  for  the  first  time  is  thrilling,  and  it  loses 
none  of  its  dignity  and  beauty  by  repetition. 

It  is  a  good  custom  and  tends  to  keep  alive  in  the  hearts  of 
our  country's  defenders  on  the  sea  a  spirit  of  veneration  and 
love  for  the  one  whom  every  schoolboy  learns  to  consider  the 
first  soldier  and  statesman  of  the  country's  history. 

JOHN  F.  URIE,  U.S;N.  (Abridged). 


ma-jes'tic,  stately;  dignified. 
pa'tri-arch,  the  head  of  a  tribe. 
ven"er-a'tion,    reverence    and    re- 
spect. 


buoys,  floating  anchors  for  ships. 
cer'e-mony,  outward  forms,  or  rites. 
hom'age,  honor;  respect. 
sa-lute',  a  ceremony  of  respect. 


50 


SONG   OF    MARION'S    MEN 

Our  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress  tree ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear: 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 
From  danger  and  from  toil; 


51 

We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'Tis  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain ; 
'Tis  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — - 

A  moment — and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 
Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs ; 

Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 
For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 

And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 
With  kindliest  welcoming, 


52 

With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

Forever  from  our  shore. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


glades,  open  places  in  the  woods. 
mo-rass',  a  swampy  place. 
deem,  think. 


spoil,  things  taken  in  fight. 
barb,  a  war  horse. 
hoar'y,  white  with  age. 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT  (1794-1878)  was  a  noted  American  poet, 
whose  native  state  was  Massachusetts.  He  was  a  lawyer,  but  was  always 
more  interested  in  literature  than  in  law.  He  published  "Thanatopsis," 
one  of  his  most  celebrated  poems,  when  he  was  only  twenty-two.  Among 
his  most  remarkable  pieces  of  work  are  his  translations  of  the  " Iliad"  and 
the  "Odyssey"  from  the  Greek.  His  poetry  is  published  in  one  volume, 
"Poetical  Works,"  and  his  letters  of  travel,  orations  and  addresses  are 
published  under  the  title,  "Prose  Writings."  "The  Song  of  Marion's 
Men "  was  included  in  an  edition  of  his  poems  published  in  England,  but 
the  line  in  that  edition,  "The  British  soldier  trembles"  was  changed  to 
"The  foeman  trembles  in  his  camp."  In  all  of  his  poetry  he  describes  the 
beauties  of  nature  in  lofty  and  uplifting  language. 

Write  a  true  or  imaginary  story  about  a  day  or  more  spent  in  a  camp  in 
the  woods. 

Where  was  the  camp?  How  many  persons  were  in  it?  Why  were  you 
there?  How  did  you  eat  and  sleep?  What  did  you  see  and  hear?  What 
adventures  did  you  have? 

Write  one  of  your  favorite  stories  from  history. 

When  and  where  did  the  event  take  place?  Who  were  engaged  in  it? 
What  were  the  important  points  connected  with  it?  What  were  the  results? 
How  is  this  event  connected  with  other  historical  events? 


53 


AMERICAN    SALMON 

That  was  a  day  to  be  remembered.  It  had  only  begun  when 
we  drew  rein  at  a  tiny  farmhouse  on  the  banks  of  the  Clacka- 
mas and  sought  horse  feed  and  lodging,  ere  we  hastened  to  the 
river  that  broke  over  a  weir  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

Imagine  a  stream  seventy  yards  broad,  divided  by  a  pebbly 
island,  running  over  charming  "  riffles  "  and  swirling  into  deep, 
quiet  pools,  where  the  good  salmon  goes  to  smoke  his  pipe  after 
meals. 

The  weir  had  been  erected  to  pen  the  Chenook  salmon  from 
going  farther  up-stream.  We  could  see  them,  twenty  or  thirty 
pounds  in  weight,  lying  by  the  score  in  the  deep  pools,  or 
flying  madly  against  the  weir  and  foolishly  skinning  their 
noses.  They  were  not  our  prey,  for  they  would  not  rise  at  a 
fly,  and  we  knew  it.  Nevertheless,  when  one  made  his  leap 
against  the  weir,  and  landed  on  the  foot-plank  with  a  jar  that 
shook  the  board  I  was  standing  on,  I  would  fain  have  claimed 
him  for  my  own  capture. 

California  sniffed  up-stream  and  down-stream,  across  the 
racing  water,  chose  his  ground,  and  let  the  gaudy  fly  drop  in 
the  tail  of  a  riffle.  I  was  getting  my  rod  together,  when  I 
heard  the  joyous  shriek  of  the  reel  and  the  yells  of  California, 
and  three  feet  of  living  silver  leaped  into  the  air  far  across  the 
water.     The  forces  were  engaged. 

The  salmon  tore  up-stream,  the  tense  line  cutting  the  water 
like  a  tide-rip  behind  him,  and  the  light  bamboo  bowed  to 
breaking.     What  happened  thereafter  I  cannot  tell. 

In  what  appeared  to  be  half  a  day,  but  in  what  was  really 
little  over  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  fish  sullenly  came  home 


54 

with  spurts  of  temper,  dashing  head  on  and  dancing  in  the 
air,  but  home  to  bank  came  he,  and  the  unpitying  reel  gath- 
ered up  the  thread  of  his  life  inch  by  inch. 

We  landed  him  in  a  little  bay,  and  the  spring  weight  in  his 
glorious  gills  checked  at  eleven  and  one  half  pounds.  Eleven 
and  one  half  pounds  of  fighting  salmon!  We  danced  a  war- 
dance  on  the  pebbles,  and  California  shouted: — "Partner! 
Partner!  This  is  glory!  Now  you  catch  your  fish!  Twenty- 
four  years  I've  waited  for  this!  " 

I  went  into  that  icy-cold  river  and  made  my  cast  just  above 
the  weir,  and  all  but  foul-hooked  a  blue-and-black  water-snake 
with  a  coral  mouth,  which  coiled  itself  on  a  stone  and  hissed. 

The  next  cast — ah,  the  pride  of  it,  the  regal  splendor  of  it! 
the  thrill  that  ran  down  from  finger-tip  to  toe !  Then  the  water 
boiled.  The  salmon  broke  for  the  fly  and  got  it.  There  re- 
mained sense  enough  in  me  to  give  him  all  that  he  wanted 
when  he  jumped  not  once,  but  twenty  times,  before  the  up- 
stream flight  that  ran  my  line  out  to  the  last  half-dozen  turns, 
and  I  saw  the  reel-bar  of  nickel  glitter  under  the  thinning 
green  coils.  My  thumb  was  burned  deep  when  I  strove  to 
stopper  the  line. 

I  did  not  feel  it  until  later,  for  my  soul  was  out  in  the  dan- 
cing weir.  As  I  bowed  back,  the  butt  of  the  rod  on  my  left 
hip-bone,  and  the  top  joint  dipping  like  unto  a  weeping  willow, 
he  turned  and  accepted  every  inch  of  slack  that  I  could  by 
any  means  get  in  as  a  favor. 

There  lie  several  sorts  of  success  in  this  world  which  taste 
well  in  the  moment  of  enjoyment.  I  question  whether  the 
steady  theft  of  line  from  an  able-bodied  salmon,  who  knows 
exactly  what  you  are  doing  and  why  you  are  doing  it,  is  not 
sweeter  than  any  other  victory  within  human  scope. 


55 

Like  California's  fish,  he  ran  at  me  head  on,  and  leaped 
against  the  line,  but  I  had  two  hundred  fifty  pairs  of  fingers 
given  me  in  that  hour.  The  banks  and  the  pine-tree  danced 
dizzily  round  me.  But  I  only  reeled — reeled  as  for  life — 
reeled  for  hours,  and  at  the  end  of  the  reeling,  continued  to 
give  him  the  butt  while  he  sulked  in  a  pool. 

The  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  capture  had  died  away.  We 
were  both  at  work  in  deadly  earnest  now.  I  would  rather  have 
died  among  the  pebbles  than  surrender  my  right  to  play  and 
land  a  salmon,  weight  unknown,  with  an  eight  ounce  rod. 
I  dropped  on  a  log  to  rest  for  a  moment.  As  I  drew  breath, 
the  weary  hands  slackened  their  hold,  and  I  forgot  to  give  him 
the  butt. 

A  wild  scutter  in  the  water,  a  plunge,  and  a  break  for  the 
head-waters  of  the  Clackamas  were  my  rewards.  The  weary 
toil  of  reeling  in  with  one  eye  under  the  water  and  the  other 
on  the  top  joint  of  the  rod  was  renewed. 

"  The  father  of  all  the  salmon !  "  California  shouted.  "  Get 
your  trout  to  bank,  Johnny  Bull!  " 

But  I  could  do  no  more.  Even  the  insult  failed  to  move  me. 
The  rest  of  the  game  was  with  the  salmon.  He  suffered  him- 
self to  be  drawn,  skipping  with  pretended  delight  at  getting 
to  the  haven  where  I  would  fain  bring  him.  Yet  no  sooner 
did  he  feel  shoal  water  under  his  ponderous  body  than  he 
backed  like  a  torpedo-boat,  and  the  snarl  of  the  reel  told  me 
that  my  labor  was  in  vain. 

A  dozen  times,  at  least,  this  happened  ere  the  line  hinted 
that  he  had  given  up  the  battle  and  would  be  towed  in.  He  was 
towed.  The  landing-net  was  useless  for  one  of  his  size,  and  I 
would  not  have  him  gaffed.  I  stepped  into  the  shallows  and 
heaved  him  out  with  a  respectful  hand  under  the  gill,  for  which 


56 

kindness  he  battered  me  about  the  legs  .with  his  tail,  and  I  felt 
the  strength  of  him  and  was  proud. 

California  had  taken  my  place  in  the  shallows,  his  fish  hard 
held.  I  was  up  the  bank,  lying  full  length  on  the  sweet-scented 
grass  and  gasping  in  company  with  my  first  salmon  caught, 
played,  and  landed  on  an  eight  ounce  rod.  My  hands  were  cut 
and  bleeding,  I  was  dripping  with  sweat,  spangled  like  a  harle- 
quin with  scales,  water  from  my  waist  down,  nose  peeled  by 
the  sun,  but  utterly,  supremely  happy. 

The  beauty,  the  darling,  my  Salmon,  weighed  twelve  pounds, 
and  I  had  been  seven  and  thirty  minutes  bringing  him  to  bank. 
He  had  been  lightly  hooked  on  the  angle  of  the  right  jaw,  and 
the  hook  had  not  wearied  him.  That  hour  I  sat  among  princes 
and  crowned  heads,  greater  than  them  all. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING  {Abridged). 


riffles,  rocks  under  shallow  water. 
scut'ter,  a  rush;  a  quick  dash. 
pon'der-ous,  heavy. 
har'le-quin,  a  clown. 
tense,  stretched  tight. 


weir,  a  fishing  net  set  vertically  in 

the  water. 
gaffed,  hooked  with  a  pole  with  a 

sharp  iron  point. 
en-thu'si-asm,  eager  feeling. 


A  wild  scutter  in  the  water  was  my  reward.  A  plunge  was  my  reward. 
A  break  for  the  head-waters  of  the  Clackamas  was  my  reward. 

How  many  things  were  my  rewards? 

A  wild  scutter  in  the  water,  a  plunge,  and  a  break  for  the  head-waters 
of  the  Clackamas  were  my  rewards. 

When  two  or  more  subjects  are  used  with  one  predicate,  they  form  a 
compound  subject. 

From  the  sentences  with  compound  subjects,  make  sentences  with  only  one 
subject:  The  little  man  in  green,  and  the  minnows  with  silver  tails  taught 
Tom  a  lesson. 

A  ballad  called  the  Lighthouse  Tragedy,  and  a  song  on  the  taking  of 
Teach  were  among  Franklin's  first  poems. 


57 


A    PAIR    OF    EAGLES 

In  a  thick  damp  wood  near  a  lake  in  Levy  county,  Florida, 
stands  a  tall  pine  tree,  which  for  fifteen  years  has  held  a  nest 
of  the  bald  eagle.  For  ninety-one  feet  the  great  pine  raises  its 
slender  trunk  without  a  branch.  Thirty  feet  higher  is  the  nest 
in  the  main  fork  of  the  tree,  which  here  sends  out  three  limbs. 

The  nest  is  a  large  one.  Year  after  year  it  has  been  used, 
and  the  birds  each  season,  in  repairing  it,  have  added  material 
until  it  has  become  more  than  four  feet  in  thickness.  In  width 
it  is  likewise  about  four  feet.  Some  of  the  sticks  used  extend 
outward  at  the  sides,  making  the  diameter  of  the  nest  fully 
six  feet. 

The  materials  of  the  nest  are  largely  dead  twigs  and  small 
pine  branches.  Some  are  only  a  few  inches  in  length,  while 
others  are  two  feet  long.  The  structure  is  slightly  basin- 
shaped  on  top,  and  the  depression  in  the  center  is  about  four 
inches  deep.     This  is  lined  with  dry  moss. 

These  shrewd  old  eagles  have  long  been  a  terror  to  the  wild 
ducks  that  gather  in  winter  on  the  neighboring  lake,  and  a 
source  of  continual  annoyance  to  the  sheep  raisers  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  Their  careers  would  long  ago  have  been 
cut  short  if  the  plans  of  any  of  the  numerous  hunting  expe- 
ditions against  them  had  been  successfully  carried  out. 

Poison  has  been  repeatedly  set,  and  scores  of  rifle  balls  have 
sung  their  way  through  the  forest,  or  across  the  lake,  to  strike 
out  the  lives  of  these  troublesome  enemies.  But  the  bald  eagles 
have  lived  on  unharmed. 

Exasperated  at  the  number  of  lambs  carried  out  of  his  pas- 
ture one  year  by  these  birds,  the  owner  vowed  that  he  would 


58 

never  know  happiness  again  until  lie  had  killed  at  least  one 
of  the  robbers.  No  opportunity  came  to  him  that  summer  for 
carrying  out  his  threat. 

Desiring  to  examine  the  nest  more  closely  than  could  be 
done  with  an  opera  glass,  I  determined  to  climb  the  tree.  This 
I  accomplished  on  January  twentieth.  Taking  a  narrow  board 
three  feet  long,  I  nailed  it  crosswise  to  the  tree  about  five  feet 
from  the  ground. 

Clambering  up  this  board  by  the  aid  of  climbing  irons 
strapped  to  my  feet,  I  stood  and  nailed  another  cleat  in  like 
manner  Hve  feet  above  the  first.  A  rope  thrown  over  one 
shoulder  and  tied  around  the  tree  aided  me  in  holding  my 
position  as  I  nailed. 

The  strips  of  wood  were  drawn  up  with  a  cord  as  they  were 
used,  my  companion  on  the  ground  setting  the  nails  in  each 
beforehand.  By  this  slow  method  I  reached  the  nest  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  and  a  half. 

Above  my  head  was  a  cart  load  of  sticks  and  rotting  twigs 
which  had  yet  to  be  passed.  In  order  to  climb  up  one  of  the 
large  limbs  against  which  the  nest  rested,  I  was  obliged  to  tear 
away  several  armfuls  of  the  materials. 

At  length  I  raised  my  head  above  the  level  of  the  nest  and 
beheld  two  eaglets  lying  flat  upon  their  breasts.  They  were 
about  the  size  of  half-grown  chickens,  and  had  bodies  covered 
with  whitish  down.  They  offered  no  resistance  to  my  han- 
dling, and  uttered  "only  a  low  whistling  cry. 

Soon  after  I  began  the  ascent  the  old  birds  appeared.  As 
long  as  I  remained  in  the  tree,  they  continued  to  soar  anxiously 
about,  at  a  safe  distance,  uttering  occasionally  a  high-pitched 
scream. 

Only  once  was  there  any  appearance  of  an  attack  from  them. 


59 

The  larger  one,  which  I  thus  judged  to  be  the  female,  while 
flying  at  a  distance  of  perhaps  one  hundred  yards,  and  at  an 
equal  elevation  with  myself,  suddenly  changed  her  course,  and 
came   at  me   straight  as   an   arrow.     With  raised   hatchet  I 


awaited  the  assault,  but  when  within  thirty  feet  her  courage 
failed,  and  she  turned  sharply  to  one  side  and  passed  on. 

I  had  hoped  to  find  eggs,  and  determined  to  be  at  the  nest 
on  time  for  this  another  season.  The  next  year  the  weather 
was  stormy,   and  I  was  delayed  until  the  fourteenth  of  the 


60 

same  month.  The  nest  was  again  found  to  contain  young. 
This  time  they  were  larger  than  those  of  the  previous  year. 
From  tip  to  tip  of  wings  they  measured  three  and  one  half  feet. 

The  feathers  of  the  adult  bird  are  dark  brown,  except  the 
head,  neck,  and  tail,  which  are  white.  On  account  of  the  white 
appearance  of  the  head,  so  different  from  the  back  and  wings, 
the  bird  might  be  thought  at  a  distance  not  to  have  any  head 
feathers.  Hence,  possibly,  came  the  name  by  which  it  is  usu- 
ally known — the  bald  eagle.  This  white  part  of  the  plumage 
does  not  come  until  the  bird  is  over  two  years  old. 

An  eagle's  foot  is  especially  adapted  to  seizing  and  holding 
its  prey.  The  muscles  of  the  legs  are  so  arranged  that  when 
the  weight  of  the  body  is  thrown  on  the  foot,  the  long  sharp 
claws  are  driven  deep,  and  once  they  close  on  a  victim  there 
is  no  escape. 

In  mountainous  regions  bald  eagles  often  build  their  nests 
on  cliffs.  In  many  places  they  are  more  or  less  destructive  to 
lambs  and  young  pigs. 

Where  the  supply  of  fish,  grouse,  squirrels,  or  other  natural 
prey  is  plentiful,  domestic  animals  are  seldom  disturbed.  Only 
once  have  I  witnessed  such  a  capture.  An  eagle  carried  off 
before  my  eyes  a  grown  hen  from  a  neighbor's  barnyard. 

They  are  especially  fond  of  fish.  These  they  usually  pro- 
cure by  swooping  down  and  snatching  them  from  the  water  in 
their  talons.  It  is  also  well  known  that  they  sometimes  rob 
the  ospreys  of  the  fish  which  they  have  caught.  There  is,  there- 
fore, little  neighborly  love  between  the  eagles  and  fish  hawks 

of  a  community. 

T.  GILBERT  PEARSON. 

a-dult',  full-grown.  I  cleat,  a  strip  of  wood. 

ca-reer',  course  of  life.  I  shrewd,  sharp-witted. 


61 

T.  GILBERT  PEARSON,  professor  of  biology  and  geology  in  the 
State  Normal  and  Industrial  College,  Greensboro,  North  Carolina,  is  a 
lover  of  out-door  life,  and  a  close  observer  of  nature.  This  story  is  from 
a  delightful  book  called  "Stories  of  Bird  Life."  Of  this  book  Professor 
Pearson  says:  "Should  the  stories  serve  to  give  the  reader  a  little  more 
intimate  acquaintance  with  our  feathered  neighbors  of  the  field  and  wood- 
land, my  main  object  will  have  been  accomplished." 

[The  story  is  used  here  by  permission  of  the  B.  F.  Johnson  Company.] 


THE    EAGLE 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls, 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


THE    LOYAL   KNIGHT 

Some  centuries  ago  two  kings  were  contending  for  the  crown 
of  Castile.  We  forget  their  names  for  the  present ;  but  to  make 
easy  the  telling  of  my  story,  we  shall  call  one  Alfonso  and  the 
other  John.  Alfonso  proclaimed,  of  course,  that  John  was  a 
usurper  and  a  rebel,  and- John  returned  the  compliment. 

Well,  John  at  last  defeated  his  rival,  horse  and  foot,  and 
carried  everything  triumphantly  before  him,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  single  town.    This  town  had  been  intrusted  by  Alfonso 


62 

to  a  stout  old  knight  called  Aguilar,  and  after  a  long  siege,  still 
remained  unconquered. 

"  You  have  done  enough  for  honor/'  said  King  John  one  day 
to  the  knight ;  "  surrender,  and  you  shall  have  the  most  liberal 
terms." 

"  If  you  had  read  the  history  of  your  country,"  answered 
Aguilar,  "  you  would  have  known  that  none  of  my  race  ever 
surrendered." 

"  I  will  starve  you,  proud  and  obstinate  fool." 

"  Starve  an  eagle  if  you  can." 

"  I  will  put  you  and  the  whole  garrison  to  the  sword." 

"  Try,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  and  the  siege  went  on. 

One  morning,  as  the  rising  sun  was  beginning  to  gild  with  its 
rays  the  highest  towers  of  the  city,  a  parley  sounded  from  the 
camp  of  the  enemy.  The  old  knight  appeared  on  the  wall,  and 
looked  down  on  the  king  below.  "  Surrender,"  said  John  again. 
"  My  rival,  Alfonso,  is  dead,  and  the  whole  of  Castile  recognizes 
my  sway  as  that  of  its  legitimate  sovereign." 

"  Sire,  I  believe  you,  but  I  must  see  my  dead  master." 

"  Go,  then,  to  Seville,  where  his  body  lies.  You  have  my 
royal  word  that  I  shall  attempt  nothing  against  you  on  your 
way ;  nor  against  the  city  in  your  absence." 

The  knight  came  out  with  banner  flying,  and  a  small  escort 
of  grim-visaged  warriors.  Behind  him  the  gates  closed ;  before 
him  the  dense  battalions  of  the  enemy  opened  their  ranks.  As 
he  passed  along,  slowly  riding  his  noble  war-horse,  shouts  of 
admiration  burst  wide  and  far  from  the  whole  host  that  had  so 
often  witnessed  his  deeds  of  valor,  and  the  echoes  of  the  loud 
and  enthusiastic  greeting  accompanied  him  until  the  red  plume 
that  waved  in  his  helmet  was  out  of  sight. 

He  arrived  at  Seville,  and  went  straight  to  the  Cathedral, 


AGUILAR   LEAVING   THE   CASTLE 


64 

where  he  found  the  tomb  of  his  former  sovereign.  He  had  it 
opened,  and  gazing  awhile  with  moist  eyes  at  the  pale  face 
that  met  his  look,  he  thus  addressed  the  dead  monarch :  "  Sire, 
I  had  sworn  never  to  deliver  to  anybody  but  yourself  the  keys 
of  the  town,  which  you  had  intrusted  to  my  care.  Here  they 
are.  I  have  kept  my  oath."  And  he  deposited  them  on  the 
breast  of  King  Alfonso.  Then,  bestriding  his  good  steed,  he 
galloped  back  to  his  post. 

As  soon  as  he  approached,  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  again 
opened,  and  King  John  confronted  him.  "  Well,"  said  the 
king,  "  are  you  satisfied,  and  do  you  now  give  up  the  contest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sire." 

"  Where  are  the  keys  of  the  town  ?  " 

"  On  King  Alfonso's  breast.  Go  and  get  them.  We  meet 
no  more." 

"  We  shall  never  part !  "  exclaimed  the  king ;  "  get  the  keys 
back  yourself,  and  remain  in  command  of  the  town  in  my 
name."  The  followers  of  the  king  murmured,  and  complained 
of  his  rewarding  a  rebel.  "  He  is  no  longer  one,"  said  King 
John;  "  such  rebels,  when  won,  become  the  best  subjects." 

CHARLES  E.  A.  GAYARRE. 


tt-surp'er,  one  who  seizes  power  un- 
lawfully. 
ob'sti-nate,  stubborn  and  perverse. 
la-con'ic,  brief  and  pointed. 
grim-vis'aged,  with  stern  faces. 


rec'og-niz-es,     accepts  ;     acknowl- 
edges. 
le-git'i-mate,  lawful. 
con-f  ront'ed,  met ;  stood  facing. 


CHARLES  E.  A.  GAYARRE  (1805-95),  an  American  historian, 
was  born  in  Louisiana.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  Philadelphia 
and  began  the  practice  of  law  in  New  Orleans  when  he  was  twenty-five 
years  old.  He  held  many  political  offices  in  his  native  state,  and  wrote 
several  histories  of  Louisiana. 


65 


THE    PERFECT    LIFE 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk,  doth  make  men  better  be ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sear: 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May; 

Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night, 

It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  light. 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see; 
And  in  short  measure,  life  may  perfect  be. 

BEN  JONSON. 

FAME 

Her  house  is  all  of  echo  made 

Where  never  dies  the  sound ; 
And  as  her  brows  the  clouds  invade, 

Her  feet  do  strike  the  ground. 

BEN  JONSON. 

BEN  JONSON  (1573-1637)  was  an  English  writer  of  plays.  He  had 
to  leave  college  because  of  poverty,  and  help  his  stepfather,  a  brick  mason. 
Becoming  disgusted  with  this  kind  of  work,  he  went  with  the  English 
army  to  Flanders.  There  he  distinguished  himself  for  his  bravery.  When 
he  came  back  to  England,  "he  brought  little  but  the  reputation  of  a  brave 
man,  a  smattering  of  Dutch,  and  an  empty  purse."  When  he  was  twenty- 
five  years  old  he  produced  a  play,  "Every  Man  in  His  Humor,"  which 
brought  him  into  notice.  After  that  he  produced  many  successful  plays. 
Shakespeare  acted  in  one  of  them.  In  comparing  Shakespeare  and 
Jonson,  a  famous  critic  says  that  he  considers  Jonson  the  more  correct 
poet,  but  Shakespeare  the  greater  wit.  "I  admire  Jonson — but  I  love 
Shakespeare." 


6Q 


THARALD'S   OTTER 


You  would  scarcely  think  that  an  otter  could  be  a  pleasant 
companion.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  one,  whose  name  was 
Mons,  improved  greatly  as  soon  as  he  got  into  civilized  society. 

He  was  scarcely  six  inches  long  when  Tharald  caught  him. 
But  he  was  so  sleek  and  nimble  and  glossy,  that  it  was  a  delight 
to  handle  him.  His  fur  was  of  a  dark  brown,  and  when  it  was 
wet,  it  looked  black.  It  was  so  thick  that  you  could  not,  even  by 
pulling  the  hair  apart,  get  the  slightest  glimpse  of  the  skin. 

But  the  most  remarkable  things  about  Mons  were  the  webs 
he  had  between  his  toes,  and  his  long  glossy  whiskers.  Of  the 
latter  he  was  proud,  and  would  allow  no  one  to  touch  them. 

As  the  strongest  trait  of  character,  this  otter  was  very  in- 
quisitive. Again  and  again  he  explored  the  flour  barrel,  and 
came  out  as  white  as  a  miller.  Once  he  put  his  nose  into  an 
inkstand,  and  in  drawing  it  out,  poured  the  contents  over  his 
head. 

In  the  part  of  Norway  where  Tharald's  father  lived,  the 
people  earned  some  of  their  money  by  salmon-fishing.  Some 
who  had  no  land  made  their  living  by  fishing  and  shooting. 

Every  spring  the  salmon  came  from  the  sea  into  the  rivers 
to  lay  their  eggs.  You  could  see  their  young  darting  over  the 
pebbles  in  the  stream,  followed  by  big  fish  that  wanted  to  eat 
them.  The  perch  and  the  trout  grew  fat,  and  the  pike  and  the 
pickerel  made  royal  meals  out  of  the  perch  and  trout. 

It  was  during  this  season  that  Tharald  one  day  walked  down 
to  the  lake  to  try  his  luck  with  a  fly.  Mons,  who  was  now  a 
year  old,  was  sitting  on  Tharald' s  shoulder.  The  otter  was  so 
fond  of  his  master  that  he  followed  him  like  a  dog. 


67 

"Mons,"  said  Tharald,  after  having  vainly  thrown  the  fly 
a  dozen  times  into  the  river,  "  I  think  that  this  is  a  poor  day  for 
fishing.     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

At  that  very  instant  a  hig  six-pound  salmon-trout  leaped  for 
the  fly.     The  line  flew  with  a  hum  from  the  reel,  and  Tharald 


MONS    LANDS    A   TROUT 


braced  himself  to  "  play  "  the  fish,  until  he  could  land  it.  The 
trout  sprang  out  of  the  water,  and  his  beautiful  spotted  sides 
gleamed  in  the  sun. 

That  was  a  sight  for  Mons !  Before  his  master  could  prevent 
him,  he  plunged  from  his  shoulder  into  the  lake,  and  shot 
through  the  clear  tide  like  a  black  arrow.     The  trout  saw  him 


68 

coming,  and  made  a  desperate  leap!  The  line  snapped;  the 
trout  was  free! 

Free !  It  was  delightful  to  see  Mons's  supple  body  as  it 
glided  through  the  water,  bending  upward,  downward,  side- 
ward, with  amazing  swiftness  and  ease.  His  two  big  eyes,  so 
near  the  tip  of  his  nose  that  he  could  see  in  every  direction 
with  scarcely  a  turn  of  his  head,  peered  through  the  tide,  keep- 
ing ever  in  the  wake  of  the  fleeing  fish. 

Finally,  by  a  brisk  turn,  the  otter  plunged  his  teeth  into  the 
trout's  neck,  and  brought  him  to  land.  You  need  not  be  told 
that  Tharald  made  a  hero  of  Mons.  He  hugged  him  and 
patted  him  and  called  him  pet  names,  until  Mons  grew  quite 
bashful.  But  this  event  gave  Tharald  an  idea.  He  determined 
to  train  the  otter  as  a  salmon-fisher. 

When  Mons  was  two  years  old,  he  landed  his  first  salmon. 
Soon  he  had  a  second  and  a  third.  Tharald  felt  like  a  rich 
man  that  day,  as  he  carried  home  in  his  basket  three  silvery 
beauties,  worth  a  dollar  and  a  half  apiece.  He  made  haste  to 
dispose  of  them  to  an  English  yachtsman,  and  went  home, 
dreaming  of  "  gold  and  forests  green,"  as  the  Norwegians  say. 

"  Now,  Mons,"  he  said  to  his  friend,  "  if  we  do  as  well  every 
day  as  we  have  done  to-day,  we  shall  soon  be  rich  enough  to  go 
to  school.    What  do  you  think  of  that  Mons  ?  " 

HJALMAR  II.  BOYESEN  (Abridged). 


civ'i-lized,  cultivated  in  the  arts  of 
life. 

nim'ble,  spry,  quick. 

in-quis'i-tive,  seeking  for  knowl- 
edge; prying. 

trait,  a  special  quality. 


vain'ly,  without  success. 

des'per-ate,  bold  and  reckless. 

a-maz'ing,  exciting  wonder. 

gup'ple,  easily  bent. 

wake,  track. 

peered,  looked  closely. 


HJALMAR  H.  BOYESEN  (1848-95)  was  born  in  Norway,  but  came 
to  America  when  he  was  only  twenty-one  years  of  age.  He  was  professor 
of  German  at  Cornell  University  for  six  years,  and  afterward  became  a 
member  of  the  faculty  of  Columbia  College.  He  wrote  novels,  poetry; 
sketches  and  essays.  "Gunnar,  a  Tale  of  Norse  Life/'  "A  Norseman's 
Pilgrimage,"  "Ilka  on  the  Hill-Top,"  and  "Idylls  of  Norway"  are  among 
his  best  known  writings.  The  above  selection  is  from  "The  Modern 
Vikings, "  and  is  used  by  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


THE    KITTEN   AND    THE    FALLING    LEAVES. 

See  the  kitten  on  the  wall, 
Sporting  with  the  leaves  that  fall, 
Withered  leaves — one — two — and  thre 
From  the  lofty  elder  tree ! 
Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 
Of  this  morning  bright  and  fair 
Eddying  round  and  round,  they  sink 
Softly,  slowly:  one  might  think, 
From  the  motions  that  are  made, 
Every  little  leaf  conveyed 
Sylph  or  fairy  hither  tending, 
To  this  lower  world  descending, 
Each  invisible  and  mute, 
In  his  wavering  parachute. 
— But  the  kitten — how  she  starts, 
Crouches,  stretches,  paws,  and  darts! 
Eirst  at  one,  and  then  its  fellow, 
Just  as  light  and  just  as  yellow ; 
There  are  many  now — now  one — • 
Now  they  stop,  and  there  are  none- 


70 

What  intenseness  of  desire 
In  her  upward  eye  of  fire! 
With  a  tiger-leap  half  way 
Now  she  meets  the  coming  prey, 
Lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then 
Has  it  in  her  power  again. 
!Now  she  works  with  three  or  four, 
Like  an  Indian  conjurer; 
Quick  as  he  in  feats  of  art, 
Far  beyond  in  joy  of  heart. 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 


con-veyed\  carried, 
sylph,  an  airy  spirit. 
in-tense'ness,  strength. 
con'jur-er,  a  magician. 


in-vis'i-ble,  not  to  be  seen. 
par'a-chute,   a    kind    of    umbrella 

used    in    descending    from   a 

balloon. 


The  kitten  meets  the  coming  prey.  The  kitten  lets  it  go  as  fast.  The 
kitten  then  has  it  in  her  power  again. 

How  many  things  are  done  by  the  kitten? 

The  kitten  meets  the  coming  prey,  lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then  has  it  in 
her  power  again. 

When  two  or  more  predicates  are  used  with  one  subject,  they  form  a 
compound  predicate. 

From  the  sentences  with  compound  predicates,  make  sentences  with  only 
one  predicate:  I  shut  my  eyes,  clung  tightly  to  the  arch,  and  took  the 
plunge. 

My  master  works  with  his  head,  keeps  his  books,  and  manages  his  great 
mills. 

Elizabeth  hastened  into  the  house,  found  the  keg  of  powder,  and 
darted  out. 

When  the  parts  of  a  compound  subject  or  of  a  compound  predicate  are 
tong  and  differently  modified,  by  what  mark  should  they  be  separated? 
Write  five  sentences  with  compound  subjects. 
Write  five  sentences  with  compound  predicates. 


71 


SCOTT   AND    HIS    HOME 


It  is  among  the  very  earliest  recollections  of  my  school-days, 
that  the  master  told  us  youngsters,  that  the  great  author  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  dead.  And  I  think  some  lout  of  a  boy  down 
the  bench,  who  was  a  better  hand  at  marbles  than  he  ever  was 
at  books,  said  in  a  whisper  that  two  or  three  of  us  caught,  "  I 
wonder  who  he  was?  " 

It  was  at  a  later  day  that  we  boys  began  to  catch  the  full 
flavor  of  "  Waverley,"  and  the  "  Heart  of  Midlothian,"  and  of 
that  glorious  story  of  battles  and  single-handed  fights  in  which 
the  gallant  Saladin  and  the  ponderous  Richard  of  the  Lion 
Heart  took  part. 

We  may  possibly  have  read  at  that  age  his  "  Tales  of  a  Grand- 
father " ;  and  we  may  have  heard  our  kinsfolk  talk  admiringly 
of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  of  "  Marmion  "  ;  but  we  did  not 
measure  fairly  the  full  depth  of  the  school-master's  grave  man- 
ner^ when  he  told  us,  in  1832,  that  Walter  Scott  was  dead. 

For  my  part,  when  I  did  get  into  the  full  spirit  of  "  Guy 
Mannering  "  and  of  "  Ivanhoe,"  some  years  later,  it  seemed  to 
me  a  great  pity  that  a  man  who  could  make  such  books  should 
die  at  all, — and  a  pity  that  he  should  not  go  on  writing  them  to 
the  latest  generation  of  men. 

That  feeling,  I  think,  I  had  not  wholly  shaken  off  when  I 
wandered  twelve  years  later  along  the  Tweed,  looking  sharply 
out  in  the  Scotch  mist  for  the  gray  ruin  of  Melrose  Abbey. 

I  knew  that  this  beautiful  ruin  was  near  to  the  old  home- 
stead of  Walter  Scott,  toward  which  I  had  set  off  on  a  foot 
pilgrimage,  a  day  before,  from  the  old  border-town  of  Berwick- 
upon-Tweed.     I  had  kept  close  along  the  river, — seeing  shep- 


72 

herds  at  sheep-washing  on  Tweed-side, — seeing  old  Norham 
Castle,  and  Coldstream  Bridge,  and  the  palace  of  the  Duke 
of  Roxborough. 


SCOTT  IN   HIS   STUDY 


I  had  slept  at  Kelso,  had  studied  the  great  bit  of  ruin  which 
is  there,  and  had  caught  glimpses  of  Teviotdale,  and  of  the 
Eildon  Hills.     I  had  dined  at  the  drover's  inn  of  St,  BoswelPs; 


73 


I  had  trudged  out  of  my  way  for  a  good  look  at  Smaillholme 
Tower,  and  at  the  farmhouse  of  Sandy  Knowe,  both  of  which 
you  will  find  mentioned  if  you  read  (as  you  should)  Lockhart's 
"  Life  of  Scott." 

Dryburgh  Abbey,  with  its  gloom,  and  rich  tresses  of  ivy 
vines,  where  the  great  writer  lies  buried,  came  later  in  the  day. 
At  last,  in  the  gloaming  I  toiled  into  the  little  town  of  Melrose. 
There  is  not  much  to  be  seen 
there   but  the   Abbey   in  its 
ghostly  ruin.     I  slept  at  the 
George  Inn,  dreaming — as  I 
dare  say  you  would  have  done 
—of  "  Ivanhoe,"  "  Kebecca," 
and  border   wars   and   "  Old 
Mortality." 

Next  morning  after  break- 
fast I  strolled  two  miles  or  so 
down  the  road,  and  by  a  little 
green  foot-gate  entered  upon 
the  grounds  of  Abbotsford. 
This  was  the  home  that  Walter  Scott  created,  and  the  home 
where  he  died. 

The  forest  trees  under  which  I  walked  were  those  which  he 
had  planted.  I  found  his  favorite  out-of-door  seat,  sheltered 
by  a  thicket  of  arbor-vita3  trees,  from  which  there  could  be 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  rippled  surface  of  the  Tweed,  and  a 
glimpse  of  the  many  turrets  that  crowned  the  house  of  Abbots- 
ford. 

But,  pray,  where  were  Tom  Purdy,  and  Laidlaw,  and  Maida, 
and  Sibyl  Gray?  For  you  must  remember  I  was,  in  that  day, 
fresh  from  a  first  reading  of  Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Scott,"  in 


DRYBURGH    ABBEY 


74 

which  all  these,  and  many  more,  appear,  and  give  life  and  stir 
to  the  surroundings  of  this  home  at  Abbotsford. 

You  will  read  that  book  by  Lockhart  some  day,  and  you 
will  find  in  it,  that  Tom  Purdy  was  an  old  out-of-door  servant 
of  Scott,  who  looked  after  the  plantation  and  the  dogs,  and 
always  accompanied  the  master  upon  his  hunting  frolics  and 
his  mountain  strolls.  Laidlaw  did  service  in  a  more  important 
way  in-doors, — reading  and  writing  for  the  master  of  the 
house. 

Maida  was  a  noble  stag-hound,  whom  Scott  loved  almost  as 
much  as  any  creature  about  him,  and  of  whom  he  has  left  a 
charming  portrait  in  old  Bevis, — whose  acquaintance  you  will 
make  whenever  you  come  to  read  the  tale  of  "Woodstock.  As 
to  Sibyl  Gray,  that  was  the  name  of  the  stout  nag  which  car- 
ried Scott  safely  through  fords  and  fens. 

DONALD  G.  MITCHELL  (Abridged). 


rec^ol-lec'tions,  things  recalled  to 

mind. 
gen"er-a'tion,  the  men  and  women 

living  at  a  given  time. 


pirgrim-age,  a  journey. 
trudged,  walked  wearily. 
portrait,  a  picture   or   description 
of  a  person. 


DONALD  G.  MITCHELL  (1822-  )  has  written  some  delightful 
novels  and  essays  under  the  pen-name  of  Ik  Marvel.  Mr.  Mitchell 
gives  a  gently  humorous  turn  to  much  of  his  writing,  and  besides  being 
humorous,  he  knows  how  to  express  delicate  sentiment  in  graceful  lan- 
guage. He  has  always  been  a  lover  of  nature,  and  for  many  years  has  lived 
on  his  farm,  Edge  wood,  near  New  Haven,  Conn.  "About  Old  Story- 
tellers," is  the  name  of  the  book  from  which  "Scott  and  His  Home"  is 
taken.  The  most  famous  of  all  Mr.  Mitchell's  books  is  his  novel,  "The 
Reveries  of  a  Bachelor,"  but  his  nature  studies  of  life  at  Edgewood  are 
quite  as  fine  in  their  way.  This  selection  is  reproduced  by  courtesy  of 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


Y5 

THE   SINGING    LEAVES 
A  Ballad 


"  What  fairings  will  ye  that  I  bring  ?  " 
Said  the  King  to  his  daughters  three; 

"  For  I  to  Vanity  Fair  am  boun ; 
Now  say  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Then  up  and  spake  the  eldest  daughter, 

That  lady  tall  and  grand: 
"  O  bring  me  pearls  and  diamonds  great, 

And  gold  rings  for  my  hand." 

Thereafter  spake  the  second  daughter, 
That  was  both  white  and  red: 

"  For  me  bring  silks  that  will  stand  alone, 
And  a  gold  comb  for  my  head." 

Then  came  the  turn  of  the  least  daughter 
That  was  whiter  than  thistle-down, 

And  among  the  gold  of  her  blithesome  hair 
Dim  shone  the  golden  crown. 

"  There  came  a  bird  this  morning 
And  sang  'neath  my  bower-eaves, 

Till  I  dreamed,  as  his  music  made  me, 
'  Ask  thou  for  the  singing  leaves.' " 


76 

Then  the  brow  of  the  King  swelled  crimson 

With  a  flush  of  angry  scorn: 
"  Well  have  ye  spoken,  my  two  eldest, 

And  chosen  as  ye  were  born; 

"  But  she,  like  a  thing  of  peasant  race, 
That  is  happy  binding  the  sheaves ;  " 

Then  he  saw  her  dead  mother  in  her  face, 
And  said,  "  Thou  shalt  have  thy  leaves." 

II 

He  mounted  and  rode  three  days  and  nights 

Till  he  came  to  Vanity  Fair, 
And  'twas  easy  to  buy  the  gems  and  the  silk, 

But  no  singing  leaves  were  there. 

Then  deep  in  the  green  wood  rode  he 

And  asked  of  every  tree, 
"  Oh,  if  you  have  ever  a  singing  leaf, 

I  pray  you  to  give  it  me !  " 

But  the  trees  all  kept  their  counsel, 

And  never  a  word  said  they, 
Only  there  sighed  from  the  pine-tops 

A  music  of  sea  far  away. 

Only  the  pattering  aspen 

Made  a  sound  of  growing  rain, 

That  fell  ever  faster  and  faster, 
Then  faltered  to  silence  again. 


77 

"  Oh,  where  shall  I  find  a  little  foot-page 
That  would  win  Loth  hose  and  shoon, 

And  will  bring  to  me  the  singing  leaves 
If  they  grow  under  the  moon  ?  " 

Then  lightly  turned  him  Walter  the  page, 

By  the  stirrup  as  he  ran : 
"  JSTow  pledge  ye  me  the  truesome  word 

Of  a  king  and  gentleman, 

"  That  you  will  give  me  the  first,  first  thing 

You  meet  at  the  castle  gate, 
And  the  princess  shall  get  the  singing  leaves, 

Or  mine  be  a  traitor's  fate." 

The  King's  head  dropped  upon  his  breast 

A  moment,  as  it  might  be; 
"  'Twill  be  my  dog,"  he  thought,  and  said, 

"  My  faith  I  plight  to  thee." 

Then  Walter  took  from  next  his  heart 

A  packet  small  and  thin, 
"  Now  give  you  this  to  the  Princess  Anne, 

The  singing  leaves  are  therein." 

HI 

As  the  King  rode  in  at  his  castle  gate, 

A  maiden  to  meet  him  ran, 
And  "  Welcome,  father !  "  she  laughed  and  cried 

Together,  the  Princess  Anne, 


78 

"  Lo,  here  the  singing  leaves,"  quoth  he, 
"  And  woe,  but  they  cost  me  dear !  " 

She  took  the  packet,  and  the  smile 
Deepened  down  beneath  the  tear. 

It  deepened  down  till  it  reached  her  heart, 

And  then  gushed  up  again, 
And  lighted  her  tears  as  the  sudden  sun 

Transfigures  the  summer  rain. 

And  the  first  leaf,  when  it  was  opened, 
Sang :  "  I  am  Walter  the  page, 

And  the  songs  I  sing  'neath  thy  window 
Are  my  only  heritage." 

And  the  second  leaf  sang :  "  But  in  the  land 
That  is  neither  on  earth  or  sea, 

My  lute  and  I  are  lords  of  more 

Than  thrice  this  kingdom's  fee." 

And  the  third  leaf  sang :  "  Be  mine !  be  mine ! 

And  ever  it  sang,  "  Be  mine !  " 
Then  sweeter  it  sang  and  ever  sweeter, 

And  said,  "  I  am  thine,  thine,  thine." 

At  the  first  leaf  she  grew  pale  enough, 
At  the  second  she  turned  aside, 

At  the  third,  'twas  as  if  a  lily  flushed 
With  a  rose's  red  heart's  tide. 

"  Good  counsel  gave  the  bird,"  said  she, 
"  I  have  my  hope  thrice  o'er, 


79 

For  they  sing  to  my  very  heart/'  she  said, 
"  And  it  sings  to  them  evermore." 

She  Drought  to  him  her  beauty  and  truth, 

But  and  broad  earldoms  three, 
And  he  made  her  queen  of  the  broader  lands 

He  held  of  his  lute  in  fee. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


failings,  trinkets    bought   at  the 

fair, 
as'pen,  a  tree  with  quivering  leaves. 
true'some,  true. 
plight,  to  promise. 


trans-fig  ures,  changes  to  unnatural 
brightness. 

her'it-age,  property  that  comes  to 
one  through  the  death  of  a  rel- 
ative. 

earl'dom,  lands  of  an  earl. 


A  WAR-TIME  ADVENTURE 

After  crossing  the  gully,  and  walking  on  through  the  woods 
for  what  they  thought  a  safe  distance,  Frank  and  Willy  turned 
into  the  path. 

They  were  talking  very  merrily  about  the  General  and  Hugh 
and  their  friend  Mills,  and  were  discussing  some  romantic 
plan  for  the  recapture  of  their  horses  from  the  enemy,  when 
they  came  out  of  the  path  into  the  road,  and  found  themselves 
within  twenty  yards  of  a  group  of  Federal  soldiers,  quietly 
sitting  on  their  horses,  evidently  guarding  the  road. 

The  sight  of  the  bluecoats  made  the  boys  jump.  They  would 
have  crept  back,  but  it  was  too  late — they  caught  the  eye  of 
the  man  nearest  them.     They  ceased  talking  as  suddenly  as 


80 

birds  in  the  trees  stop  chirping  when  the  hawk  sails  over; 
and  when  one  Yankee  called  to  them,  in  a  stern  tone,  "  Halt 
there !  "  and  started  to  come  toward  them,  their  hearts  were 
in  their  mouths. 

"  Where  are  you  boys  going  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  came  up  to 
them. 

"  Going  home." 

"  Where  do  you  belong  ?  " 

"  Over  there — at  Oakland/'  pointing  in  the  direction  of  their 
home,  which  seemed  suddenly  to  have  moved  a  thousand  miles 
away. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ? "  The  other  soldiers  had  come 
up  now. 

"  Been  down  this  way."  The  boys'  voices  were  never  so 
meek  before.     Each  reply  was  like  an  apology. 

"  Been  to  see  your  brother  ? "  asked  one  who  had  not  spoken 
before — a  pleasant-looking  fellow.  The  boys  looked  at  him. 
They  were  paralyzed  by  dread  of  the  approaching  question. 

"  Now,  boys,  we  know  where  you  have  been,"  said  a  small 
fellow,  who  wore  a  yellow  chevron  on  his  arm.  He  had  a  thin 
mustache  and  a  sharp  nose,  and  rode  a  wiry,  dull  sorrel  horse. 
"  You  may  just  as  well  tell  us  all  about  it.  We  know  you've 
been  to  see  'em,  and  we  are  going  to  make  you  carry  us  where 
they  are." 
'   "  "No,  we're  not,"  said  Frank  doggedly. 

Willy  expressed  his  determination  also. 

"  If  you  don't,  it's  going  to  be  pretty  bad  for  you,"  said 
the  little  corporal.  He  gave  an  order  to  two  of  the  men, 
who  sprang  from  their  horses,  and,  catching  Frank,  swung 
him  up  behind  another  cavalryman.  The  boy's  face  was  very 
pale,  but  he  bit  his  lip. 


81 

"  Go  ahead/' — continued  the  corporal  to  a  number  of  his 
men,  who  started  down  the  path.  "  You  four  men  remain 
here  till  we  come  back/'  he  said  to  the  men  on  the  ground, 
and  to  two  others  on  horseback.  "  Keep  him  here,"  jerking 
his  thumb  toward  Willy,  whose  face  was  already  burning  with 
emotion. 

"  I'm  going  with  Frank,"  said  Willy.  "  Let  me  go."  This 
to  the  man  who  had  hold  of  him  by  the  arm.  "  Frank,  make 
him  let  me  go,"  he  shouted,  bursting  into  tears,  and  turning 
on  his  captor  with  all  his  little  might. 

"  Willy,  he's  not  going  to  hurt  you, — don't  you  tell !  "  called 
Frank,  -squirming  until  he  dug  his  heels  so  into  the  horse's 
flanks  that  the  horse  began  to  kick  up. 

"  Keep  quiet,  Johnny !  he's  not  going  to  hurt  him,"  said  one 
of  the  men  kindly.  He  had  a  brown  beard  and  shining  white 
teeth. 

They  rode  slowly  down  the  narrow  path,  the  dragoon  holding 
Frank  by  the  leg.  Deep  down  in  the  woods,  beyond  a  small 
branch,  the  path  forked. 

"  Whieh  way  ?  "  asked  the  corporal,  stopping  and  addressing 
Frank. 

Frank  set  his  mouth  tight  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"  Which  is  it  ?  "  the  corporal  repeated. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell,"  said  he  firmly. 

"  Look  here,  Johnny ;  we've  got  you,  and  we  are  going  to 
make  you  tell  us;  so  you  might  just  as  well  do  it  easy.  If 
you  don't,  we're  going  to  make  you." 

The  boy  said  nothing. 

"  You  men  dismount.  Stubbs,  hold  the  horses."  The  cor- 
poral himself  dismounted,  and  three  others  did  the  same,  giving 
their  horses  to  a  fourth. 


82 

"  Get  down !  " — this  to  Frank  and  the  soldier  behind  whom 
he  was  riding.  The  soldier  dismounted,  and  the  boy  slipped 
off  after  him  and  faced  his  captor,  who  held  a  strap  in  one 
hand. 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  us  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  know  ? "  he  came  a  step  nearer,  and  held  the 
strap  forward.  There  was  a  long  silence.  The  boy's  face 
paled,  but  took  on  a  look  as  if  the  proceedings  were  indifferent 
to  him. 

"  If  you  say  you  don't  know  " — said  the  man,  hesitating  in 
the  face  of  the  boy's  resolution.  "  Don't  you  know  where  they 
are  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,"  said  Frank, 
bursting  into  tears. 

"  The  little  Johnny's  game,"  said  the  soldier  who  had  told 
him  the  others  were  not  going  to  hurt  Willy.  The  corporal 
said  something  to  this  man  in  an  undertone,  to  which  he 
replied : 

"  You  can  try,  but  it  isn't  going  to  do  any  good.  I  don't 
half  like  it,  anyway." 

Frank  had  stopped  crying  after  his  first  outburst. 

"  If  you  don't  tell,  we  are  going  to  shoot  you,"  said  the 
little  soldier,  drawing  his  pistol. 

The  boy  shut  his  mouth  close,  and  looked  straight  at  the 
corporal.  The  man  laid  down  his  pistol,  and  seizing  Frank, 
drew  his  hands  behind  him,  and  tied  them. 

"  Get  ready,  men,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  the  boy  aside  to  a 
small  tree,  putting  him  with  his  back  to  it. 

Frank  thought  that  his  hour  had  come.  He  thought  of  his 
mother  and  Willy,  and  wondered  if  the  soldiers  would  shoot 


83 

Willy,  too.  Then  he  thought  of  his  father,  and  how  proud 
he  would  be  of  his  son's  bravery  when  he  should  hear  of  it. 
This  gave  him  strength. 

"  The  knot— hurts  my  hands/'  he  said. 

The  man  leaned  over  and  eased  it  a  little. 

"  I  wasn't  crying  because  I  was  scared,"  said  Frank. 

The  kind-looking  fellow  turned  away. 

"  Now,  boys,  get  ready,"  said  the  corporal,  taking  up  his 
pistol. 

How  large  it  looked  to  Frank!  He  wondered  where  the 
bullets  would  hit  him,  and  if  the  wounds  would  bleed,  and 
whether  he  would  be  left  alone  all  night  out  there  in  the 
woods,  and  if  his  mother  would  come  and  kiss  him. 

"  I  want  to  say  my  prayers,"  he  said  faintly. 

The  soldier  made  some  reply,  which  he  could  not  hear,  and 
the  man  with  the  beard  started  forward;  but  just  then  all 
grew  dark  before  the  boy's  eyes. 

Next,  he  thought  that  he  must  have  been  shot,  for  he  felt 
wet  about  his  face,  and  was  lying  down.  He  heard  some  one 
say,  "  He's  coming  to  " ;  and  another  replied,  "  Thank  God !  " 

He  opened  his  eyes.  He  was  lying  beside  the  little  branch 
with  his  head  in  the  lap  of  the  big  soldier  with  the  beard,  and 
the  little  corporal  was  leaning  over  him,  throwing  water  in 
his  face  from  a  cap.     The  others  were  standing  around. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  little  corporal  kindly.  "We 
were  just  a-fooling  a  bit  with  you,  Johnny." 

"  We  never  meant  to  hurt  you,"  said  the  other.  "  You  feel 
better  now  ? " 

"  Yes ;  where's  Willy  ?  "     He  was  too  tired  to  move. 

"  He's  all  right.     We'll  take  you  to  him." 


84 

"  Am  I  shot  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  No !  Do  you  think  we'd  have  touched  a  "hair  of  your  head 
— and  you  such  a  brave  little  fellow  ?  We  were  just  trying  to 
scare  you  a  bit  and  carried  it  too  far,  and  you  got  a  little 
faint,— that's  all." 

The  voice  was  so  kindly  that  Frank  was  encouraged  to 
sit .  up. 

"  Can  you  walk  now  ? "  asked  the  corporal,  helping  him  and 
steadying  him  as  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I'll  take  him,"  said  the  big  fellow,  and  before  the  boy 
could  move,  he  had  stooped,  taken  Frank  in  his  arms,  and  was 
carrying  him  back  toward  the  place  where  they  had  left  Willy, 
while  the  others  followed  with  the  horses. 

"  I  can  walk,"  said  Frank. 

"  No,  I'll  carry  you,  b-bless  your  heart !  " 

The  boy  did  not  know  that  the  big  dragoon  was  looking 
down  at  the  light  hair  resting  on  his  arm,  and  that  while  he 
trod  the  Virginia  wood-path,  in  fancy  he  was  at  home  in 
Delaware;  or  that  the  pressure  the  boy  felt  from  his  strong 
arms,  was  a  caress  given  for  the  sake  of  another  boy  far  away 
on  the  Brandywine.  A  little  while  before  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  other  soldiers,  Frank  asked  to  be  put  down, 
j  The  soldier  gently  set  him  on  his  feet,  and  before  he  let 
him  go,  kissed  him. 

"  I've  got  a  curly-headed  fellow  at  home,  just  the  size  of 
you,"  he  said  softly. 

Frank  saw  that  his  eyes  were  moist.  "I  hope  you'll  get 
safe  back  to  him,"  he  said. 

"  God  grant  it !  "  said  the  soldier. 

When  they  reached  the  squad  at  the  gate,  they  found  Willy 
still  in  much  distress  on  Frank's  account;  but  he  wiped  his 


85 

eyes  when  his  brother  reappeared,  and  listened  with  pride  to 
the  soldiers'  praise  of  Frank's  "  grit,"  as  they  called  it.  When 
they  let  the  boys  go,  the  little  corporal  wished  Frank  to  accept 
a  five-dollar  gold  piece ;  but  he  politely  declined  it. 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE. 


par'-a-lyzed,  unnerved;    unable  to 

act. 
e-mo'tion,  excitement  of  the  feelings. 


in-dif'fer-ent,  lacking  in  interest. 
de-clined',  refused  to  accept. 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE  (1853-)  was  born  at  Oakland  Plantation, 
Virginia.  In  his  boyhood  he  and  his  brothers  played  about  their  father's 
plantation,  near  which  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  camped  for  two 
winters  after  the  Civil  War  broke  out.  Through  this  the  boys  saw  real 
camp  life,  and  learned  numerous  stories  of  the  war.  Mr.  Page  has  written 
of  these  experiences  and  stories  in  "Two  Little  Confederates,"  from  which 
this  story  is  taken,  "Among  the  Camps,"  "The  Burial  of  the  Guns,"  and 
"A  Captured  Santa  Claus."  He  has  also  written  "In  Ole  Virginia," 
" Meh  Lady,"  "  Red  Rock,"  and  other  interesting  stories  and  novels.  "  A 
War-Time  Adventure  "  is  used  in  this  book  by  permission  of  the  publishers, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


Dare  to  do  right !    Dare  to  be  true ! 
You  have  a  work  that  no  other  can  do; 
Do  it  so  bravely,  so  kindly,  so  well, 
Angels  will  hasten  the  story  to  tell. 


Dare  to  do  right !    Dare  to  be  true ! 
Other  men's  failures  can  never  save  you ; 
Stand  by  your  conscience,  your  honor,  your  faith ; 
Stand  like  a  hero,  and  battle  till  death. 

GEORGE  L.  TAYLOR. 


86 


SPRING   TWILIGHT 

Singing  in  the  rain,  robin? 

Eippling  out  so  fast 
All  thy  flute-like  notes,  as  if 

This  singing  were  thy  last ! 


After  sundown,  too,  robin  ? 

Though  the  fields  are  dim, 
And  the  trees  grow  dark  and  still, 

Dripping  from  leaf  and  limb. 


Surely,  thus  to  sing,  robin, 
Thou  must  have  in  sight 

Beautiful  skies  behind  the  shower, 
And  dawn  beyond  the  night. 


Would  thy  faith  were  mine,  robin ! 

Then,  though  night  were  long, 
All  its  silent  hours  should  melt 

Their  sorrow  into  song. 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL. 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL  (1841-87)  was  an  American  poet,  who 
was  born  in  Connecticut.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Yale,  and  afterward 
became  professor  of  the  English  language  and  literature  in  the  University 
of  California.  Among  his  works  are  "  The  Venus  of  Milo  "  and  a  volume 
entitled  "Poems."  "Spring  Twilight,"  like  many  others  of  his  short 
poems,  has  a  delicate  beauty  both  in  the  thought  and  in  the  form. 


87 


A  WOLF-HUNT 


The  light  from  the  faintly  yellow  east  had  begun  to  fill 
the  room  when  the  sound  of  a  galloping  horse,  rapidly  approach- 
ing from  the  south,  wakened  Lincoln  Stewart,  and  then  a 
whistle  mingled  with  the  trample  of  the  horse  brought  to  a 
halt. 

"  That's  Milton  Jennings !  "  he  cried,  leaping  from  his  bed 
into  the  frosty  air,  and  hurriedly  dressing. 

When  Lincoln  got  outdoors,  the  horseman  was  at  the  gate, 
seated  on  a  restless  gray  colt. 

"  Aren't  you  up  early  for  a  Seminary  chap  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  haven't  lost  all  my  stamina  with  one  term 
o'  school,"  laughed  Milton. 

"Had  breakfast?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  haven't,  so  you  put  Mark  in  the  barn,  and  wait 
while  I  eat." 

After  a  hasty  breakfast,  the  boys  brought  out  the  colts.  Mark 
came  first,  snuffing  and  alert,  and  Milton  put  one  toe  into  the 
stirrup  and  swung  gracefully  into  the  saddle.  Lincoln  followed 
with  Cassius,  wild  already,  as  if  he  smelled  the  game. 

As  Lincoln  seized  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  the  horse  plunged 
and  reared  and  flew  away  sidewise,  but  the  boy  hung  to  the 
bridle  and  mane,  and  as  he  whirled,  leaped  into  his  seat  and  had 
the  wild  brute  in  hand  before  he  could  make  a  second  rush. 
He  was  too  good  a  horseman  to  be  irritated  by  high  spirits  in 
a  horse. 

As  they  rode,  the  sun  rose,  and  its  rays,  striking  along  the 
horizon,  changed  the  level  prairie  into  a  fiat  basin,  with  the 


88 

horsemen  low  in  the  center.  To  the  east  the  line  of  timber 
seemed  to  rise  far  out  of  its  normal  position.  Ten  miles  to 
the  west,  the  larger  and  deeper  forest  seemed  only  three  or 
four  miles  away. 

"  Will  the  boys  be  on  hand  ?  "  asked  Lincoln. 

"  Oh,  yes !  This  snow'll  bring  them  out.  It  was  the  signal. 
We'll  find  them  at  the  school  house." 

Some  miles  to  the  north,  and  just  over  the  state  line,  a  big 
square  of  wild  land  still  lay.  Upon  it,  as  upon  an  island,  the 
wolves,  foxes,  and  badgers  had  taken  refuge,  and  the  Iowa  boys 
had  made  several  hunting  trips  "across  the  line,"  but  Lincoln 
had  never  before  taken  part  in  them.  Ranee  Knight,  who  al- 
ways had  a  hand  in  any  expedition  of  this  kind,  had  been  in  two 
wolf-hunts,  and  was  the  natural  leader  of  this  one. 

As  the  boys  rode  steadily  on,  three  horsemen  could  be  seen 
making  easy  way  along  another  lane.  When  Milton  caught 
sight  of  them,  he  rose  in  his  saddle  and  uttered  a  wild  whoop, 
which  made  a  remarkable  change  in  the  pace  of  the  other  horse- 
men. 

Answering  yells  rose,  and  a  fine  race  took  place.  Lincoln 
let  the  rein  loose  on  Cassius,  dug  his  heel  into  his  flank,  and 
was  off  before  Milton's  protest  could  reach  him. 

Milton  held  Mark  down  to  an  easy  lope,  and  watched  the 
race  between  Lincoln  and  the  nearest  horseman  mounted  on  a 
black  horse.  Lincoln  was  a  little  nearer  to  the  goal,  but  had  a 
ravine  to  cross;  and  though  the  iron-sided  Cassius  did  his  best, 
the  black  turned  in  just  a  neck  ahead. 

Wnen  Milton  cantered  calmly  up  to  the  crowd,  they  all  yelled. 

"  He  isn't  any  good,  that  gray  horse !  Why  didn't  you  let 
him  out  ?  "  . 

"  You'll  find  out  why,  later  in  the  day,  responded  Milton 


89 

coolly.  "  When  the  rest  of  your  horses  are  all  winded,  Mark'll 
be  fresh  as  a  daisy.7' 

"  That's  so !  That's  a  fact.  Didn't  think  of  that,"  the  rest 
replied. 

Soon,  Ranee,  too,  turned  up,  riding  Ladrone,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  were  all  mounted.  "  Now  we  must  be  off,"  said 
Ranee.  "  Keep  behind  me,  don't  race,  and  don't  make  too 
much  noise.  We  strike  for  the  big  popple  grove.  All  ready — 
into  line.     March." 

He  wheeled  his  horse  and  rode  away  at  an  easy  gallop,  fol- 
lowed by  his  laughing,  jostling  troop,  along  the  road  between 
fields,  leading  to  the  north.  The  day  promised  to  be  bright; 
the  snow  was  just  right;  deep  enough  to  aid  in  detecting  the 
wolves,  and  not  so  deep  as  to  interfere  with  the  speed  of  the 
horses. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  Ranee  pulled  up  on  the  edge 
of  the  range.  u  Now,  then,  Lincoln,  you  take  Milt  and  Cy,  and 
strike  into  that  patch  of  hazel  bush  to  the  right,  and  remember, 
if  you  start  a  wolf,  don't  try  to  run  him  down,  unless  you're 
close  on  hirm  He'll  run  in  a  circle — and  while  you're  after 
him,  fire  a  shot  to  let  us  know,  and  we'll  cut  across  lots.  When 
we  strike  his  trail,  you  pull  right  off,  and  cut  across  behind  us. 
If  he  turns  to  the  right  or  left,  let  us  know." 

It  was  exhilarating  to  breathe  the  keen  prairie  air,  to  feel 
under  one's  thigh  the  powerful  swing  of  muscles  firm  as  iron, 
to  know  that  at  any  moment  a  wolf  might  start  up  from  the 
bush.  The  horses  caught  the  excitement,  champed  their  bits 
impatiently,  and  spurned  the  glittering  snow  high  into  the  air. 

Soon  a  shot  was  heard,  and  wild  yells  from  the  right  division. 
A  moment  later,  out  from  behind  a  popple  grove  leaped  a  wolf, 
followed  by  a  squad  of  horsemen.     Instantly  all  the  captain's 


90 

commands  were  forgotten.  Everybody  joined  pursuit,  whoop- 
ing, laughing,  firing,  without  an  idea  of  order. 

The  wolf  was  surprised,  but  seemed  to  grasp  the  situation. 
In  less  than  ten  seconds  the  whole  troop  were  in  a  huddle 
and  riding  fast,  except  Ranee,  who  was  now  on  the  extreme 
left,  cutting  diagonally  across.  He  fired  his  gun  to  inter- 
rupt his  mob  of  excited  hunters,  and  rode  right  into  their 
front. 

"Halt!     Hold  on  there!" 

He  waited  until  they  all  came  back  around  him. 

"  Now,  what  way  of  doing  business  is  that  ?  How  many 
wolves  are  you  going  to  kill  by  winding  every  horse  in  the 
crowd  the  first  jump  ?  You'll  kill  more  horses  than  wolves. 
Listen  to  me:  We  don't  want  more  than  three  horses  after  the 
wolf  at  the  same  time.  The  others  must  cut  him  off.  Don't 
be  in  a  hurry — wait  and  see  where  he's  heading." 

The  boys  were  silent. 

"  Milt  and  Lincoln  were  all  right.  They  started  the  game. 
But  the  rest  of  you  were  all  wrong.  Now,  the  wolf  is  in  that 
big  tow-head  there.  Cy,  you  go  to  the  right,  Milt,  you  go  to 
the  left,  I'll  take  the  center,  and  we'll  see  if  we  can  go  at  this 
man-fashion." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  partially  encircled  the  grove  and 
were  moving  down  on  it.  Again  the  wolf  broke  cover,  and 
started  to  the  left.  He  was  not  aware  of  Milton  and  Lincoln, 
because  they  were  hidden  by  a  bunch  of  aspens,  and  Lincoln 
gave  a  wild  whoop  as  the  yellow-brown  grizzled  creature  darted 
around  the  grove,  almost  under  his  feet,  and  entered  the  brush 
before  the  boy  could  collect  himself. 

Cassius  leading,  the  party  of  four  rushed  into  the  brown  hazel 
patch,  a  rushing,  snorting  squadron.     The  brush  impeded  and 


91 

bewildered  the  wolf  and  he  doubled  on  his  track,  bursting  out 
on  the  prairie  again,  at  an  oblique  angle  to  the  course  of  the 
other  horsemen. 

The  chase  became  magnificent.      The  wolf  seemed  to  float 
along  the  ground,  his  long  tail  waving,  his  ears  alert.     Eance 


L 


■*% 


HE    WAS    UPON    HIM   WITH    A    RUSH,    AND    FIRED 


was  riding  like  mad,  to  intercept  him,  and  the  wolf  did  not 
seem  to  understand, — but  he  did :  just  as  Ladrone  seemed  upon 
him,  he  disappeared.  Ranee  reined  sharply  to  the  left,  and 
waved  his  hat  to  Lincoln,  who  comprehended  the  situation.  The 
wolf  had  entered  a  deep  ravine,  which  ran  to  the  southeast,  and 
was  doubling  again,  seeking  his  den. 

"  He's  going  back !  "  shouted  Milton,  letting  Mark  out  for 
the  first  time.     The  grand  brute,  snorting  with  delight,  slid 


92 

over  the  ground,  light  as  the  wolf  himself.  The  rider  sat  him 
as  if  he  were  standing  still,  but  exulting  to  feel  the  vast  power 
and  pride  of  his  horse. 

"  See  that  horse  run !  "  shouted  Lincoln  in  delight.  The 
majestic  colt  swept  down  upon  the  wolf,  as  if  all  eyes  were  upon 
him,  and  his  honor  at  stake.  Milton  could  see  the  head  of  the 
wolf.  It  seemed  as  though  Mark  must  run  him  down,  so  cer- 
tainly equal  were  the  distances,  but  Mark  thundered  down  the 
slope  and  into  the  swale  a  few  rods  in  advance. 

The  wolf  whipped  out  behind, — Milton  fired  twice, — but  the 
fugitive  kept  on.  He  reined  Mark  sharply  to  the  right,  with 
unabated  speed,  and  rode  back  up  the  slope,  waving  his  hat  to 
show  the  way  that  the  wolf  had  gone. 

But  the  others  had  seen  the  change  in  course,  and  were 
driving  down  on  the  wily  fugitive  in  a  body.  Ed  Blackler 
was  in  the  lead,  his  gun  ready,  guiding  his  horse  by  the 
pressure  of  his  knees.  He  was  upon  him  with  a  rush,  and 
fired. 

The  wolf  leaped  into  the  air,  rose,  avoided  the  rush  of  the 
black,  and  started  into  the  brush.  Now  was  Lincoln's  oppor- 
tunity, and  striking  Cassius  with  the  flat  of  his  hand,  he  swept 
upon  the  wolf  like  a  whirlwind.  The  wounded  beast  fell  under 
the  feet  of  the  wild-eyed  Cassius,  who  would  have  trampled  fire 
in  his  excitement. 

When  Milton  rode  up  to  the  circle  of  panting  horses  and  ex- 
cited boys,  Lincoln  was  handing  the  tail  to  Ed  Blackler,  and 
Ranee  was  saying : — 

"  The  ears  are  yours,  Link.  That  crazy  horse  of  yours  did 
the  business." 

The  boys  were  delighted  with  the  result.  Everybody  praised 
the  superb  run  made  by  Mark,  the  good  shooting  done  by  Ed 


93  ■ 

Blackler,  and  the  mad  courage  of  Cassius,  who  bore  the  marks 
of  the  wolf's  teeth  on  his  legs. 

HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


stam'i-na,  vigor;  endurance. 
ir'ri-ta"ted,  annoyed. 
im-pe'ded,  hindered. 
can'ter-ed,  galloped  slowly. 
ex-hira-ra^ting,  producing  joy  and 

liveliness. 
im-pa'tient-ly,  uneasily;  fretfully. 


par'tial-ly,  in  part;  not  complete. 

com"pre-hend'ed,  understood  or  in- 
cluded. 

swale,  wet  lowland  or  swamp. 

un-a-ba'ted,  not  lessened. 

fu'gi-tive,  one  who  flees  from  pur- 
suit. 


HAMLIN  GARLAND  was  born  in  Wisconsin,  but  spent  his  childhood 
in  Iowa.  As  a  boy  he  worked  on  a  farm  when  he  was  not  going  to  school. 
Most  of  his  stories  and  novels  are  about  western  people  and  western  places. 
"Boy  Life  on  the  Prairies" — from  which  "A  Wolf  Hunt"  is  taken — is  a 
book  that  boys  like.  "Main  Traveled  Roads"  is  a  collection  of  some  of 
Mr.  Garland's  best  short  stories.  "The  Eagle's  Heart"  and  "Prairie 
Folks  "  are  the  titles  of  two  more  of  his  popular  books.  The  above  selec- 
tion is  taken  from  the  first-named  book,  by  permission  of  the  Macmillan 
Company. 


1.  Now,  what  way  of  doing  business  is  that?  2.  Now,  then,  Lincoln, 
you  take  Milt  and  Cy.  3.  Ranee,  too,  turned  up,  riding  Ladrone.  4. 
Nevertheless,  he  distinguished  at  his  feet  a  man  of  poor  appearance.  5. 
After  all,  however,  his  fish  were  great  curiosities.  6.  Fishing,  to  be  sure, 
is  not  easy. 

Read  these  sentences,  omitting  now,  then,  too,  nevertheless,  however,  and 
to  be  sure.     These  terms  are  said  to  be  used  independently. 

How  should  words  and  phrases  used  independently  be  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  sentence? 

Write  about  an  outing  that  you  have  had: 

1.  A  day  at  the  sea-shore.  6.  A  day  in  the  country. 

2.  A  day  in  the  city.  7.  Playing  in  the  park. 

3.  Gathering  nuts.  8.  Gathering  berries. 

4.  A  picnic.  9.  Fishing. 


5.  Visiting  a  famous  place. 


10.  Spending  a  holiday. 


.94 


A   SECOND   TRIAL 


It  was  commencement  at  one  of  our  colleges.  The  people 
were  pouring  into  the  church  as  I  entered  it,  rather  tardy. 
Finding  the  choice  seats  in  the  center  of  the  audience-room 
already  taken,  I  pressed  forward,  looking  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left  for  a  vacancy.  On  the  very  front  row  of  seats  I  found 
one. 

Here  a  little  girl  moved  along  to  make  room  for  me,  looking 
into  my  face  with  large  gray  eyes,  whose  brightness  was  soft- 
ened by  very  long  lashes.  Her  face  was  open  and  fresh  as  a 
newly  blown  rose  before  sunrise.  Again  and  again  I  found 
my  eyes  turning  to  the  rose-like  face,  and  each  time  the  gray 
eyes  moved  half-smiling  to  meet  mine.  Evidently  the  child 
was  ready  to  "  make  up  "  with  me.  And  when,  with  a  bright 
smile  she  returned  my  dropped  handkerchief,  and  I  said 
"  Thank  you,"  we  seemed  fairly  introduced. 

Other  persons  now  coming  into  the  seat,  crowded  me  quite 
close  up  against  the  little  girl,  so  that  we  soon  felt  very  well 
acquainted. 

"  There's  going  to  be  a  great  crowd,"  she  said  to  me. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied;  "  people  always  like  to  see  how  school- 
boys are  made  into  men." 

Her  face  beamed  with  pleasure  and  pride  as  she  said :  "  My 
brother's  going  to  graduate;  he's  going  to  speak;  I've  brought 
these  flowers  to  throw  to  him." 

They  were  not  greenhouse  favorites;  just  old-fashioned  do- 
mestic flowers,  such  as  we  associate  with  the  dear  grandmother; 
"  but,"  I  thought,  "  they  will  seem  sweet  and  beautiful  to  him 
for  little  sister's  sake." 


95 

"  That  is  my  brother/'  she  went  on,  pointing  with  her  nose- 
gay. 

"  The  one  with  the  light  hair? "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no/'  she  said,  smiling  and  shaking  her  head  in  inno- 
cent reproof;  "not  that' homely  one;  that  handsome  one  with 
brown  wavy  hair.  His  eyes  look  brown,  too ;  but  they  are  not — 
they  are  dark-blue.  There!  he's  got  his  hand  up  to  his  head 
now.     You  see  him,  don't  you?  " 

In  an  eager  way  she  looked  from  me  to  him,  and  from  him 
to  me,  as  if  some  important  fate  depended  upon  my  recognizing 
her  brother. 

"  I  see  him,"  I  said.     "  He's  a  very  good-looking  brother." 

"Yes,  he  is  beautiful,"  she  said,  with  artless  delight;  "and 
he's  so  good,  and  he  studies  so  hard.  He  has  taken  care  of  me 
ever  since  mamma  died.  Here  is  his  name  on  the  program. 
He  is  not  the  valedictorian,  but  he  has  an  honor,  for  all  that." 

I  saw  in  the  little  creature's  familiarity  with  these  college 
terms  that  she  had  closely  identified  herself  with  her  brother's 
studies,  hopes,  and  successes. 

"  His  oration  is  a  good  one,  and  he  says  it  beautifully.  He 
has  said  it  to  me  a  great  many  times.  I  almost  know  it  by 
heart.  Oh!  it  begins  so  pretty  and  so  grand.  This  is  the  way 
it  begins,"  she  added,  encouraged  by  the  interest  she  must  have 
seen  in  my  face :  "  i  Amid  the  permutations  and  combinations 
of  the  actors  and  the  forces. which  make  up  the  great  kaleido- 
scope of  history,  we  often  find  that  a  turn  of  Destiny's 
hand '  " 

"Why,  bless  the  baby!  "  I  thought,  looking  down  into  her 
bright  proud  face.  I  can't  describe  how  very  odd  and  elfish 
it  did  seem  to  have  those  big  words  rolling  out  of  the  smiling 
childish  mouth. 


96 

As  the  exercises  progressed,  and  approached  nearer  and 
nearer  the  effort  on  which  all  her  interest  was  concentrated,  my 
little  friend  became  excited  and  restless.  Her  eyes  grew  larger 
and  brighter,  two  deep-red  spots  glowed  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Now,  it's  his  turn,"  she  said,  turning  to  me  a  face  in  which 
pride  and  delight  and  anxiety  seemed  about  equally  mingled. 
But  when  the  overture  was  played  through,  and  his  name  was 
called,  the  child  seemed,  in  her  eagerness,  to  forget  me  and 
all  the  earth  beside  him.  She  rose  to  her  feet  and  leaned  for- 
ward for  a  better  view  of  her  beloved,  as  he  mounted  to  the 
speaker's  stand. 

I  knew  by  her  deep  breathing  that  her  heart  was  throbbing 
in  her  throat.  I  knew,  too,  by  the  way  her  brother  came  up  the 
steps  and  to  the  front  that  he  was  trembling.  The  hands  hung 
limp ;  his  face  was  pallid,  and  the  lips  blue  as  with  cold.  I  felt 
anxious.  The  child,  too,  seemed  to  discern  that  things  were  not 
well  with  him.     Something  like  fear  showed  in  her  face. 

He  made  an  automatic  bow.  Then  a  bewildered,  struggling 
look  came  into  his  face,  then  a  helpless  look,  and  then  he  stood 
staring  vacantly,  like  one  in  a  dream,  at  the  waiting  audience. 
The  moments  of  painful  suspense  went  by,  and  still  he  stood 
as  if  struck  dumb.  I  saw  how  it  was;  he  had  been  seized  with 
stage-fright. 

Alas!  little  sister!  She  turned  her  large  dismayed  eyes  upon 
me.  "  He's  forgotten  it,"  she  said.  Then  a  swift  change  came 
into  her  face;  a  strong  determined  look;  and  on  the  funeral- 
like silence  of  the  room  broke  the  sweet,  brave  child- voice: 

"  Amid  the  permutations  and  combinations  of  the  actors  and 
the  forces  which  make  up  the  great  kaleidoscope  of  history, 
we  often  find  that  a  turn  of  Destiny's  hand " 

Everybody   about  us  turned  and   looked.      The   breathless 


97 

silence;  the  sweet,  childish  voice;  the  childish  face;  the  long, 
unchildlike  words,  produced  a  weird  effect. 

But  the  help  had  come  too  late;  the  unhappy  brother  was 
already  staggering  in  humiliation  from  the  stage.  The  band 
quickly  struck  up,  and  waves  of  lively  music  rolled  out  to  cover 
the  defeat. 

I  gave  the  little  sister  a  glance  in  which  I  meant  to  show 
the  intense  sympathy  I  felt;  but  she  did  not  see  me.  Her 
eyes  swimming  with  tears,  were  on  her  brother's  face.  I  put 
my  arm  around  her,  but  she  was  too  absorbed  to  heed  the 
caress,  and  before  I  could  appreciate  her  purpose  she  was  on 
her  way  to  the  shame-stricken  young  man  sitting  with  a  face 
like  a  statue's. 

When  he  saw  her  by  his  side  the  set  face  relaxed,  and  a  quick 
mist  came  into  his  eyes.  The  young  men  got  closer  together 
to  make  room  for  her.  She  sat  down  beside  him,  laid  her 
flowers  on  his  knee,  and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 

I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  from  her  sweet  pitying  face.  I 
saw  her  whisper  to  him,  he  bending  a  little  to  catch  her  words. 
Later,  I  found  out  that  she  was  asking  him  if  he  knew  his 
"  piece  "  now,  and  that  he  answered  "  yes." 

When  the  young  man  next  on  the  list  had  spoken,  and  while 
the  band  was  playing,  the  child,  to  the  brother's  great  surprise, 
made  her  way  up  the  stage  steps,  and  pressed  through  the 
throng  of  professors  and  trustees  and  distinguished  visitors, 
up  to  the  college  president. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  she  said  with  a  little  courtesy,  "  will 
you  and  the  trustees  let  my  brother  try  again?  He  knows  his 
piece  now." 

For  a  moment  the  president  stared  at  her  through  his  gold- 
bowed  spectacles,  and  then,  appreciating  the  child's  petition, 


98 

he  smiled  on  her,  and  went  down  and  spoke  to  the  young  man 
that  had  failed. 

So  it  happened  that  when  the  band  had  again  ceased  play- 
ing, it  was  briefly  announced  that  Mr. would  now  deliver 

his  oration — "  Historical  Parallels." 

A  ripple  of  heightened  and  expectant  interest  passed  over 
the  audience,  and  then  all  sat  stone  still,  as  though  fearing  to 
breathe  lest  the  speaker  might  again  take  fright.  ]STo  danger. 
The  hero  in  the  youth  was  aroused.  He  went  at  his  "  piece  " 
with  a  set  purpose  to  conquer,  to  redeem  himself,  and  to  bring 
the  smile  back  into  the  child's  tear-stained  face.  I  watched 
the  face  during  the  speaking.  The  wide  eyes,  the  parted  lips, 
the  whole  rapt  being  said  that  the  breathless  audience  was  for- 
gotten, that  her  spirit  was  moving  with  his. 

And  when  the  address  was  ended  with  the  ardent  abandon 
of  one  who  catches  enthusiasm  in  the  realization  that  he  is 
fighting  down  a  wrong  judgment  and  conquering  a  sympathy, 
the  effect  was  really  thrilling.  That  dignified  audience  broke 
into  rapturous  applause;  bouquets  intended  for  the  valedic- 
torian rained  like  a  tempest.  And  the  child,  the  child  that  had 
helped  to  save  the  day — that  one  beaming  little  face,  in  its 
pride  and  gladness,  is  something  to  be  forever  remembered. 

SARAH  WINTER  KELLOGG. 


val"e-dic-to'ri-an,  the  one  who  gives 
the  farewell  address;  the  holder 
of  the  first  honor  in  a  class. 

con'cen-tra'ted,  fixed;  brought  to  a 
point. 

1-den'ti-fled,  made  his  work  a  part 
of  her  life. 

ap-pre'ci-ate,  to  value  at  the  true 
worth. 


au"to-mat'ic,  like  a  figure  moved  by 
machinery. 

hu-mil"i-a'tion,  disgrace  and  sor- 
row. 

per"mu-ta'tions,  arrangements  of 
things  in  all  possible  orders. 

ka-lei'do-scope,an  instrument  which 
shows  different  views  and 
colors. 


MY    KATE 

She  was  not  so  pretty  as  women  I  know, 
And  yet  all  your  best  made  of  sunshine  and  snow 
Drop  to  shade,  melt  to  naught  in  the  long-trodden  ways, 
While  she's  still  remembered  on  warm  and  cold  days — 

My  Kate. 

Her  air  had  a  meaning,  her  movements  a  grace ; 
You  turned  from  the  fairest  to  gaze  on  her  face; 
And  when  you  had  once  seen  her  forehead  and  mouth, 
You  saw  as  distinctly  her  soul  and  her  truth — 

My  Kate. 

Such  a  blue  inner  light  from  her  eyelids  outbroke, 
You  looked  at  her  silence  and  fancied  she  spoke; 
When  she  did,  so  peculiar  yet  soft  was  the  tone, 
Though  the  loudest  spoke  also,  you  heard  her  #lone — 

My  Kate. 

I  doubt  if  she  said  to  you  much  that  could  act 
As  a  thought  or  suggestion;  she  did  not  attract 
In  the  sense  of  the  brilliant  or  wise ;  I  infer 
'Twas  her  thinking  of  others,  made  you  think  of  her — 

My  Kate. 

She  never  found  fault  with  you,  never  implied 
Your  wrong  by  her  right ;  and  yet  men  'at  her  side 
Grew  nobler,  girls  purer,  as  through  the  whole  town 
The  children  were  gladder  that  pulled  at  her  gown — 

My  Kate. 


100 

None  knelt  at  her  feet  confessed  lovers  in  thrall ; 
They  knelt  more  to  God  than  they  used — that  was  all : 
If  you  praised  her  as  charming,  some  asked  what  you  meant; 
But  the  charm  of  her  presence  was  felt  when  she  went — 

My  Kate. 

The  weak  and  the  gentle,  the  ribald  and  rude, 
She  took  as  she  found  them,  and  did  them  all  good; 
It  always  was  so  with  her — see  what  you  have ! 
She  has  made  the  grass  greener  even  here  with  her  grave — 

My  Kate. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


pe-cul'iar,  unlike  any  other. 
im-plied',  meant,  but  not  said. 
thrall,  slavery. 


rib'ald,  coarse ;  rude. 
in-fer',  conclude. 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING  (1806-61)  was  a  gifted  Eng- 
lish poet.  Her  father  was  a  wealthy  London  merchant,  and  gave  her 
the  best  advantages  in  education.  She  began  to  write  verse  at  the  age  of 
ten,  and  had  become  famous  before  she  was  thirty.  She  was  naturally 
delicate,  and  her  health  was  almost  ruined  by  grief  for  the  death  of  her 
brother,  who  was  drowned.  After  that  event  she  had  to  remain  for  years 
in  a  darkened  room.  She  was  married  to  Robert  Browning  in  1846  and 
lived  in  Italy  until  her  death.  "Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  a  poem  about 
Italy,  and  "Aurora  Leigh,"  a  novel  in  verse,  are  two  of  her  most  im- 
portant works.  Some  of  her  short  poems  are  exquisitely  beautiful.  "  The 
Cry  of  the  Children  "  has  done  great  good  in  calling  the  attention  of 
people  to  the  work  of  young  children  in  mines  and  factories,  and  bring- 
ing about  laws  for  their  protection. 

Write  a  word  that  means  the  opposite  of  pretty,  warm,  darkest,  outer, 
loud,  dull,  wise,  wrong,   baser,   sorrowful,   unattractive,   weak,  rough. 

Write:  praise,  blame;  ask,  answer;  found,  lost;  attract,  repel;  melt, 
freeze;  best,  worst;  remembered,  forgotten;  rude,  refined;  pulled,  pushed; 
silence,  noise. 


101 


AT    LUCERNE 


Photographs,  casts,  and  carvings  of  the  Lucerne  Lion,  all, 
even  the  best  of  them,  fall  short  of  expressing  the  simple 
grandeur  of  Thorwaldsen's  boldest  work.  The  face  of  a  per- 
pendicular sand-stone  cliff  was  hewn  roughly, — not  smoothed 
or  polished  in  any  part.  Half-way  up  was  quarried  a  niche, 
and  in  this,  as  in  a  lair,  is  a  lion  nearly  thirty  feet  long. 

The  splintered  shank  of  a  lance  projects  from  his  side.  The 
head — broken  or  bitten  off  in  his  mortal  throe,  lies  by  the 
shield  of  France,  which  is  embossed  with  the  fleur  de  lys.  One 
huge  paw  protects  the  sacred  emblem.  He  has  dragged  him- 
self, with  a  final  rally  of  strength,  to  die  upon,  while  caress- 
ing it.  He  will  never  move  again.  The  limbs  are  relaxed,  the 
mighty  frame  stretched  by  the  convulsion  that  wrenched  away 
his  life. 

He  is  dead, — not  daunted;  conquered, — not  subdued.  The 
blended  grief  and  ferocity  in  his  face  are  human  and  heroic, 
not  brutal.  In  the  rock  above  and  below  the  den  are  cut  a 
Latin  epitaph,  and  the  names  of  twenty-six  men.  "  Ilelve- 
tiorum  fidei  ac  virtuti.1  Die  X  Aug.  II  et  III  Sept.,  1792" 
begins  the  inscription. 

Who  has  not  read,  oft  and  again,  how  the  Swiss  Guard  of 
twenty-six  officers  and  seven  hundred  and  fifty  privates  were 
cut  to  pieces  to  a  man  in  defence  of  the  royal  prisoner  of  the 
Tuilleries  against  the  mob  thirsting  for  her  blood?  In  the 
shop  near  the  monument  they  show  a  fac-simile  of  the  king's 
order  to  the  Guards  to  be  at  the  palace  upon  the  fatal  day. 

Trailing  vines  have  crept  downward  from  the  top  and  fis- 
1  To  the  fidelity  and  bravery  of  the  Helvetii. 


102 


sures  of  the  cliff.  'Tall  trees  clothe  the  summit.  A  pool  lies 
at  the  base,  a  slender  fountain  in  the  middle.  There  are  always 
travelers  seated  upon  the  benches  in  front  of  the  railing,  guard- 


THE   LION   OF    LUCERN! 


ing  the  water's  brink,  contemplating  the  dead  monarch.     It  is 
the  pride  of  Lucerne. 


Around  Lake  Lucerne,  otherwise  known  as  the  Lake  of  the 
Four  Cantons,  every  rood  of  ground  is  memorable  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  gallant  little  Eepublic.  Near  it,  Arnold  Winkel- 
ried  gathered  into  his  breast  the  red  sheaf  of  spears  upon  the 
battle-field  of  Sempach,  July  9th,  1386. 

The  Confederate  Brethren  of  Uri,  Schyyz,  and  Unter- 
walden  met  at  Riitli  upon  the  very  border  of  the  lake,  on  the 


103 

night  of  November  7th,  1307,  and  swore  to  give  no  rest  to 
mind  or  body  until  Switzerland  should  be  free. 

William  Tell  was  born  at  Biirglen,  a  few  miles  above  Fliilen. 
By  the  time  we  had  re-read  Schiller's  "William  Tell,"  and 
visited,  with  it  in  hand,  Altorf,  Kiissnacht,  and  Tell's  Platte, 
we  credited  the  tales  of  his  being  and  daring  almost  as  de- 
voutly as  do  the  native  Switzers. 

Kiissnacht  is  but  a  few  miles  back  from  the  lake  in  the  midst 
of  a  smiling  country  lying  between  water  and  the  mountains. 
A  crumbling  wall  on  a  hill-side  to  the  left  of  the  road  was 
pointed  out  to  us  as  the  remains  of  Gessler's  Castle.  The  Hol- 
low Way  in  which  Tell  shot  him  is  a  romantic  lane  between 
steep,  grassy  banks  and  overhanging  trees.  It  was  by  this  that 
Gessler  approached  /the  tree  behind  which  Tell  lay,  concealed, 
cross-bow  in  hand. 

The  exact  place  of  the  Tyrant's  death  is  marked  by  a  little 
chapel.  A  fresco  in  the  porch  depicts  the  scene  described  by 
Schiller.  The  purple  Alpine  heather  blossoms  up  to  the  church- 
door,  and  maiden-hair  ferns  fringe  the  foundation  walls. 

Tell's  Platte — or  Leap — is  marked  by  a  tiny  chapel  upon 
the  extremest  water's  edge  near  Riitli.  Its  foundations  are 
built  into  the  rock  upon  which  the  patriot  sprang  from  Gess- 
ler's boat.  A  great  Thanksgiving  Mass  for  Swiss  liberty  is 
performed  here  once  in  the  year,  attended  by  a  vast  concourse 
of  people  in  gayly-decorated  boats.  There  is  not  room  on  the 
shelving  shore  for  a  congregation. 

Altorf  is  a  clean  Swiss  village  where  the  window  curtains 
are  all  white,  and  where  the  children,  clean,  too,  but  gen- 
erally bare-legged  and  bare-headed,  turn  out  in  a  body  to 
gather  around  the  strangers  that  stop  to  look  at  the  monument. 
A  very  undignified  memorial  it  is  of  the  valiant  Liberator. 


104 


"  With  which  I  meant  to  kill  you  had  I  hurt  my  son !  "  says 
the  inscription  on  the  pedestal.     The  lime-tree  to  which  the 


STATUE  OF  WILLIAM  TELL  AT  ALTORF 


boy  Albert  was  tied  to  be  shot  at  was  one  hundred  forty-seven 
measured  paces  away.    That  spot  is  now  marked  by  a  fountain. 

MARY  VIRGINIA   TERHUNE. 


per"pen-dic'u-lar,  upright. 

grand7 eur,  greatness  which  excites 
admiration  or  awe. 

con-vursion,  a  shaking  due  to 
the  contraction  of  the  mus- 
cles. 

ep'i-taph,  an  inscription  on  a  tomb- 
stone. 


con'tem-pla"ting,  viewing  thought- 
fully. 

mem'o-ra-ble,  worthy  to  be  re- 
membered. 

fres'co,  a  decorative  wall  painting. 

me-mo'ri-al,  something  in  memory 
of. 

variant,  brave  and  noble. 


105 

MARY  VIRGINIA  TERHUNE,  who  writes  under  the  name  of  Marion 
Harland,  was  born  in  Virginia  in  1831,  and  has  been  writing  for  the  press 
since  she  was  fourteen  years  old.  She  has  also  conducted  departments 
in  several  magazines ;  among  others,  St.  Nicholas  and  Wide  Awake.  Her 
books  are  of  great  variety.  "When  Grandmamma  was  Fourteen,"  is  one 
of  her  most  charming  juvenile  stories.  "  At  Lucerne  "  is  from  "  Loiterings 
in  Pleasant  Lands,"  a  book  of  travel,  and  is  here  used  by  courtesy  of 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


HOW    I    FOUND    LIVINGSTONE 

We  push  on  rapidly,  lest  the  news  of  our  coming  may  reach 
the  people  of  Bunder  Ujiji  before  we  come  in  sight,  and  are 
ready  for  them.  We  halt  at  a  little  brook,  then  ascend  the  long 
slope  of  a  naked  ridge,  the  very  last  of  the  myriads  we  have 
crossed.  This  alone  prevents  us  from  seeing  the  lake  in  all  its 
vastness.  We  arrive  at  the  summit,  travel  across  and  arrive 
at  its  western  rim,  and — the  port  of  Ujiji  is  below  us. 

At  this  grand  moment  we  do  not  think  of  the  hundreds  of 
miles  we  have  marched,  of  the  hundreds  of  hills  we  have 
ascended  and  descended,  of  the  many  forests  we  have  traversed, 
of  the  jungles  and  thickets  that  annoyed  us,  of  the  fervid  salt 
plains  that  blistered  our  feet,  of  the  hot  suns  that  scorched  us, 
nor  of  the  dangers  and  difficulties,  now  happily  surmounted. 
At  last  the  sublime  hour  has  arrived !  Our  dreams,  our  hopes, 
and  our  anticipations  are  now  about  to  be  realized ! 

"  Unfurl  the  flags,  and  load  your  guns ! 

"  One,  two,  three — fire !  " 

A  volley  from  nearly  fifty  guns  roars  like  a  salute  from  a 
battery  of  artillery:  we  shall  note  its  effect  presently  on  the 
peaceful-looking  village  below.     Before  we  had  gone  a  hundred 


106 

yards  our  repeated  volleys  had  the  effect  desired.  We  had 
awakened  Ujiji  to  the  knowledge  that  a  caravan  was  coming, 
and  the  people  were  witnessed  rushing  up  in  hundreds  to 
meet  us. 

The  mere  sight  of  the  flags  informed  every  one  that  we  were 
a  caravan;  but  the  American  flag  borne  aloft  by  gigantic 
Asmani,  whose  face  was  one  vast  smile  on  this  day,  rather  stag- 
gered them  at  first.  However,  many  of  the  people  that  now  ap- 
proached us  remembered  the  flag.  They  had  seen  it  float  above 
the  American  consulate,  and  from  the  masthead  of  many  a  ship 
in  the  harbor  of  Zanzibar,  and  they  were  soon  welcoming  the 
beautiful  flag  with  "  Bindera  Kisungu  !  " — a  white  man's  flag ! 
"  Bindera  Merikani !  " — the  American  flag ! 

Then  we  were  surrounded  by  them,  and  almost  deafened  with 
the  shouts  of  "  Yambo,  yambo,  bana !  Yambo,  bana !  Yambo 
bana !  "  To  all  and  each  of  my  men  the  welcome  was  given. 
We  are  now  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  village  of 
Ujiji,  and  the  crowds  are  dense  about  me.  Suddenly  I  hear 
a  voice  on  my  right  say,  "  Good  morning,  sir !  " 

Startled  at  hearing  this  greeting  in  the  midst  of  such  a  crowd 
of  black  people,  I  turn  sharply  around  in  search  of  the  man, 
and  see  him  at  my  side  with  the  blackest  of  faces,  but  animated 
and  joyous. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  I  am  Susi,  the  servant  of  Dr.  Livingstone,"  said  he, 
smiling. 

"  What !     Is  Dr.  Livingstone  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  another  voice. 

"  Hallo,"  said  I,  "  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Chumah,  sir." 


107 

"  What !  are  you  Chumah,  the  friend  of  Wekotani  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  is  the  Doctor  well  ?  " 

"  Not  very  well,  sir." 

u  Where  has  he  been  so  long  ?  " 

"  In  Manyuema." 

"  Now,  you,  Susi,  run,  and  tell  the  Doctor  that  I  am  coming." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  and  he  darted  off  like  a  madman. 

By  this  time  we  were  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  the  multitude  was  getting  denser,  and  almost  prevent- 
ing our  march.  Flags  and  streamers  were  out;  Arabs  and 
Wangwana  were  pushing  their  way  through  the  natives  in  order 
to  greet  us,  for,  according  to  their  account,  we  belonged  to 
them. 

Soon  Susi  came  running  back,  and  asked  me  my  name.  He 
had  told  the  Doctor  that  I  was  coming,  but  the  Doctor  was  too 
surprised  to  believe  him,  and  when  the  Doctor  asked  him  my 
name,  Susi  was  rather  staggered. 

But  during  Susi's  absence  the  news  had  been  conveyed  to  the 
Doctor  that  it  was  surely  a  white  man  who  was  coming,  whose 
guns  were  firing,  and  whose  flag  could  be  seen.  The  great  Arab 
magnates  of  Ujiji  had  gathered  together  before  the  Doctor's 
house,  and  the  Doctor  had  come  out  from  his  veranda  to  discuss 
the  matter  and  await  my  arrival. 

In  the  meantime  the  head  of  the  Expedition  had  halted,  and 
the  kirangozi  was  out  of  the  ranks,  holding  his  flag  aloft.  Selim 
said  to  me,  "  I  see  the  Doctor,  sir.  Oh,  what  an  old  man !  He 
has  a  white  beard." 

Pushing  back  the  crowds,  and  passing  from  the  rear,  I 
walked  down  a  living  avenue  of  people  until  I  came  in  front 
of  the  semicircle  of  Arabs,  in  the  front  of  which  stood  the  white 


108 

man  with  the  gray  beard.  As  I  advanced  slowly  toward  him 
I  noticed  that  he  was  pale,  looked  wearied,  wore  a  bluish  cap 
with  a  faded  gold  band  round  it,  had  on  a  red-sleeved  waistcoat 
and  a  pair  of  gray  tweed  trousers. 

I  would  have  run  to  him,  only  I  was  a  coward  in  the  presence 
of  such  a  mob — would  have  embraced  him,  only,  he  being  an 
Englishman,  I  did  not  know  how  he  would  receive  me ;  so  I  did 


what  cowardice  and  false  pride  suggested — walked  deliberately 
to  him,  took  off  my  hat,  and  said :  "  Dr.  Livingstone,  I  pre- 
sume ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  kind  smile,  lifting  his  cap  slightly. 

I  replace  my  hat,  and  he  puts  on  his  cap,  and  we  both  grasp 
hands,  and  then  I  say  aloud :  "  I  thank  God,  Doctor,  I  have 
been  permitted  to  see  you." 

He  answered :  "  I  feel  thankful  that  I  am  here  to  welcome 

you." 


109 

I  turn  to  the  Arabs,  take  off  my  hat  to  them  in  response  to 
the  saluting  chorus  of  "  Yambos  "  I  receive,  and  the  Doctor 
introduces  them  to  me  by  name.  Then  oblivious  of  the  crowds, 
oblivious  of  the  men  who  shared  with  me  my  dangers,  we — 
Livingstone  and  I — turn  our  faces  toward  his  cottage. 

He  points  to  the  veranda,  or  rather,  mud  platform,  under  the 
broad  overhanging  eaves;  he  points  to  his  own  particular  seat, 
which  I  see  that  his  age  and  experience  in  Africa  have  sug- 
gested, namely,  a  straw  mat,  with  a  goatskin  over  it,  and  an- 
other skin  nailed  against  the  wall  to  protect  his  back  from 
contact  with  the  cold  mud.  I  protest  against  taking  this  seat, 
but  the  Doctor  will  not  yield :  I  must  take  it. 

We  are  seated — the  Doctor  and  I — with  our  backs  to  the 
wall.  The  Arabs  take  seats  on  our  left.  More  than  a  thousand 
natives  are  in  our  front,  filling  the  whole  square  densely,  in- 
dulging their  curiosity,  and  discussing  the  fact  of  two  white 
men  meeting  at  XJjiji — one  just  come  from  Manyuema,  in  the 
west,  the  other  from  Unyanyembe  in  the  east. 

Conversation  began.  What  about?  I  declare  I  have  for- 
gotten.   Oh  !  we  mutually  asked  questions  of  each  other,  such  as : 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  and  "  Where  have  you  been  all 
this  long  time  ? — the  world  has  believed  you  to  be  dead."  Yes, 
that  was  the  way  it  began;  but  whatever  the  Doctor  informed 
me,  and  that  which  I  communicated  to  him,  I  cannot  correctly 
report,  for  I  found  myself  gazing  at  him,  conning  the  wonderful 
man  at  whose  side  I  now  sat  in  Central  Africa. 

Every  hair  of  his  head  and  beard,  every  wrinkle  of  his  face, 
the  manners  of  his  features,  and  the  slightly  wearied  look  he 
wore,  were  all  imparting  intelligence  to  me — the  knowledge  that 
I  craved  for  so  much  ever  since  I  heard  the  words,  "  Take  what 
you  want,  but  find  Livingstone."     What  I  saw  was  deeply  in- 


110 

teresting  intelligence  to  me,  and  unvarnished  truth.  I  was 
listening  and  reading  at  the  same  time.  What  did  these  dumb 
witnesses  relate  to  me  ? 

HENRY  M.  STANLEY. 


an-tic"i-pa'tiong,  things  looked  for- 
ward to. 
re'-al-ized,  made  real. 
gi-gan'tic,  of  great  size. 
an'i-ma"ted,  filled  with  life. 
fer'vid,  fiery;  glowing  with  heat. 


mag'nates,  persons  of  importance. 
kir-an-go'zi,  a  guide. 
de-lib'er-ate-ly,  slowly. 
ob-liv'i-ous,  not  thinking  of. 
mu'tu-al-ly,  in  common ;  jointly. 
con'ning,  looking  closely  at. 


SIR    GALAHAD 

My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of  men, 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure, 
My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten, 

Because  my  heart  is  pure. 
The  shattering  trumpet  shrilleth  high, 

The  hard  brands  shiver  on  the  steel, 
The  splintered  spear-shafts  crack  and  fly, 

The  horse  and  rider  reel: 
They  reel,  they  roll  in  clanging  lists, 

And  when  the  tide  of  combat  stands, 
Perfume  and  flowers  fall  in  showers, 

That  lightly  rain  from  ladies'  hands. 


When  down  the  stormy  crescent  goes, 

A  light  before  me  swims, 
Between  dark  stems  the  forest  glows, 

I  hear  a  noise  of  hymns : 


Ill 

Then  by  some  secret  shrine  I  ride; 

I  hear  a  voice,  but  none  are  there ; 
The  stalls  are  void,  the  doors  are  wide, 

The  tapers  burning  fair. 
Fair  gleams  the  snowy  altar-cloth, 

T4ie  silver  vessels  sparkle  clean, 
The  shrill  bell  rings,  the  censer  swings, 

And  solemn  chants  resound  between. 

A  maiden  knight — to  me  is  given 

Such  hope,  I  know  not  fear ; 
I  yearn  to  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven 

That  often  meet  me  here. 
I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease, 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams, 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odors  haunt  my  dreams ; 
And,  stricken  by  an  angel's  hand, 

This  mortal  armor  that  I  wear, 
This  weight  and  size,  this  heart  and  eyes, 

Are  touched,  are  turned  to  finest  air. 

The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky, 

And  thro'  the  mountain-walls 
A  rolling  organ-harmony 

Swells  up,  and  shakes,  and  falls. 
Then  move  the  trees,  the  copses  nod, 

Wings  flutter,  voices  hover  clear: 
*  0  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God ! 

Ride  on !  the  prize  is  near." 


112 

So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange; 

By  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and  pale, 
All-arm' d  I  ride  whate'er  betide, 

Until  I  find  the  Holy  Grail. 

ALFRED    TENNYSON. 

casques,  helmets.  I  cen'ser,  a  vessel   in  which  incense, 

cres'cent,  the  new  or  growing  moon.  or  sweet  gum,  is  burned. 


shrine,  a  place  for  the  worship  of 

some  particular  object. 
brands,  swords. 


yearn,  to  long  for. 
o'dors,  perfumes. 
hos'tel,  an  inn. 


Tell  the  story  of  Sir  Galahad's  coming  to  the  court  of  King  Arthur. 

Copy  and  study:  The  stone-cutter's  life  was  rude.  The  stone-cutter 
worked  much,  gained  little,  and  was  not  at  all  contented  with  his  fate. 

The  stone-cutter's  life  was  rude;  he  worked  much,  gained  little,  and  was 
not  at  all  contented  with  his  fate. 

When  the  parts  of  a  compound  sentence  are  long  or  not  closely  con- 
nected, they  should  be  separated  by  the  semicolon. 

Combine  so  as  to  form  compound  sentences: 

1.  The  stone-cutter  at  once  became  rich.  The  stone-cutter  rested, 
slept  upon  thick  matting,  and  wrapped  himself  in  a  robe  of  soft  silk. 

2.  You  may  compel  the  Kamchatka  dog  to  sleep  out  on  the  snow  in  the 
coldest  weather.  You  may  drive  him  with  heavy  loads  until  his  feet  crack 
open.  You  may  starve  him  until  he  eats  up  his  harness.  But  his  strength 
and  spirit  seem  alike  unbroken. 

3.  My  ballads  were  wretched  stuff,  in  the  Grub-Street  style.  When 
my  ballads  were  printed,  he  sent  me  about  the  town  to  sell  them. 

Separate  into  shorter  sentences: 

1.  So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange;  by  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and 
pole,  all-armed  I  ride,  whate'er  betide,  until  I  find  the  Holy  Grail. 

2.  Her  air  had  a  meaning,  her  movements  a  grace ;  you  turned  from  the 
fairest  to  gaze  on  her  face ;  and  when  you  had  once  seen  her  forehead  and 
mouth,  you  saw  as  distinctly  her  soul  and  her  truth. 


113 


THE    BURIAL    OF    FERDINAND    DE    SOTO 

The  followers  of  De  Soto  decided  to  conceal  his  death  from 
the  Indians.  They  had  always  been  made  believe  that  Chris- 
tians did  not  die,  and  that  De  Soto  himself  was  a  god,  who 
could  read  their  secrets.  Should  they  find  out  now  that  he 
was  dead,  the  Spaniards  feared  that  all,  even  the  friendly 
Indians,  would  set  upon  them  and  overpower  them. 

As  soon  as  the  breath  left  the  body,  the  new  captain-general 
ordered  the  corpse  to  be  kept  hidden  in  the  house  for  three  days. 
To  keep  up  the  deception,  the  soldiers  were  bidden  hide  their 
grief  under  gay,  careless  faces,  and  to  say  that  he  was  getting 
better.  In  all  silence  and  secrecy,  the  officers  made  their 
preparations  for  the  burial,  seeking  for  the  grave  a  place  the 
Indians  should  not  suspect. 

In  an  open  space  just  outside  the  village  were  a  number  of 
deep  wide  pits,  dug  by  the  Indians  to  obtain  earth  for  their 
mounds.  One  of  these  was  suggested  and  selected.  At  dead 
of  night,  with  sentinels  posted  to  keep  the  Indians  at  a  distance, 
the  officers,  cavaliers,  and  priests  carried  the  dead  leader 
thither,  laid  him  in  the  pit,  and  filled  it  with  earth. 

The  next  day,  to  remove  all  traces  of  what  they  had  done 
and  still  further  deceive  the  Indians,  they  gave  out  that  De 
Soto  was  getting  well.  Then  jumping  on  their  horses  with  a 
great  pretence  of  joy  and  festivity,  they  galloped  all  over  the 
plain,  around  the  pits  and  over  the  grave.  Already  great  quan- 
tities of  water  had  been  poured  out  as  though  to  lay  the  dust, 
and  now  the  horses'  hoofs  trampled  the  ground  into  an  even 
surface. 

But  their  precautions  were  in  vain.     The  Indians  were  soon 


114 

passing  and  repassing  among  the  pits,  looking  with  careful 
attention  about  them,  whispering  to  one  another,  motioning  with 
their  chins,  and  winking  their  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
grave. 

The  Spaniards  now  grew  suspicious  themselves,  and,  uneasy 
and  fearful,  they  decided  to  take  the  body  from  the  place  it 
was  in  and  bury  it  somewhere  else,  so  that  if  the  Indians 
searched  for  it,  they  would  not  be  so  sure  of  finding  it,  and 
the  search  would  be  more  difficult.  For,  as  the  Spaniards  knew 
and  said,  if  the  Indians  suspected  that  a  body  was  buried  there, 
they  would  dig  the  whole  plain  up  with  their  hands,  and  never 
rest  until  they  found  it.  And  if  they  found  that  the  body  was 
that  of  De  Soto,  then  they  would  wreak  upon  him,  dead,  what 
they  would  not  dare  even  think  of  in  his  presence,  living. 

Then  came  the  inspiration  to  bury  their  leader  in  the  Great 
River  itself  which  he  had  discovered;  there,  and  there  alone, 
said  the  officers,  would  the  body  be  safe  from  savage  insult  and 
outrage.  His  good  friend  Juan  d'Anasco,  and  four  other  cap- 
tains undertook  to  sound  for  a  proper  place.  Taking  with  them 
a  Biscayan  sailor  who  was  clever  with  the  lead,  they  rowed  over 
in  the  evening  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  while  pretending 
to  fish,  sounded  it,  and  found  in  the  channel  a  depth  of  nine- 
teen fathoms.     There  they  decided  should  be  the  grave. 

As  there  were  no  stones  in  that  region  with  which  to  weight 
the  body  and  sink  it  to  the  bottom,  they  had  a  large  oak  tree 
felled,  in  the  trunk  of  which  was  hollowed  out  a  place  the 
length  of  a  man.  De  Soto's  body  was  taken  up  and  placed 
in  the  oak.  There  he  lay  as  in  a  coffin,  and  the  opening  was 
carefully  closed. 

The  cavaliers  and  priests  carried  the  trunk  to  a  boat,  and 
rowing  out  to  midstream,  and  recommending  the  soul  of  their 


115 

leader  to  God,  they  dropped  his  body  overboard — saw  it  sink  to 
the  bottom  of  the  Mississippi — the  mighty  bed  for  the  mighty 
sleep. 

GRACE  KING. 


wreak,  to  carry  out  in  vengeance 

or  passion. 
fes-tiv'i-ty,  feasting. 
felled,  cut  down. 


fath'om,   a    depth  of    six  feet   of 

water. 
sus-pi'cious,     imagining      without 

proof. 


GRACE  KING  was  born  in  New  Orleans  in  1852.  She  has  written  a 
number  of  books  as  well  as  many  short  stories  for  the  magazines.  "  De 
Soto  and  His  Men  in  the  Land  of  Florida  "  is  the  name  of  one  of  her  books 
on  historical  themes.  "New  Orleans,  the  Place  and  the  People/'  and 
"Balcony  Stories"  are  among  her  most  interesting  books.  "  The  Burial 
of  De  Soto  "  is  here  given  with  the  consent  of  the  Macmillan  Company. 


1.  De  Soto  was  buried  in  the  Mississippi  River.  He  had  discovered 
the  Mississippi  River. 

De  Soto  was  buried  in  the  Mississippi  River,  which  he  had  discovered. 

2.  De  Soto  discovered  the  Mississippi  River.     He  died  in  1542. 
De  Soto,  who  discovered  the  Mississippi  River,  died  in  1542. 

3.  The  driver  carries  a  stick.  The  stick  is  four  feet  in  length  and 
two  inches  in  thickness.  The  stick  is  armed  at  one  end  with  a  long  iron 
spike. 

The  driver  carries  a  stick,  which  is  four  feet  in  length  and  two  inches 
in  thickness,  and  which  is  armed  at  one  end  with  a  long  iron  spike. 
Combine:   1.  He  darted  through  a  window.     The  window  was  open. 

2.  The  good  child  dreams  of  trees.     The  trees  bear  delicious  fruit. 

3.  The  otter's  name  was  Mons.     He  improved  greatly. 


The  sentences  that  you  have  made  are  called  complex  sentences. 

A  complex  sentence  consists  of  two  or  more  parts  called  clauses.  The 
most  important  of  these  clauses  is  called  the  independent  clause;  the 
other  or  others  are  the  dependent  clauses. 

Draw  lines  under  the  independent  clauses  in  your  sentences. 


116 


THE    MAGNET 


In  days  of  old  there  was  a  shepherd  whose  name  was  Magnes. 
One  of  Magnes'  sheep  went  astray,  and  he  went  to  the  moun- 
tains to  search  for  it. 

He  reached  a  spot  where  there  were  only  bare  rocks.     As  he 


walked  over  the  rocks,  he  began  to  be  conscious  that  his  boots 
were  adhering  to  them.  He  felt  them  with  his  hand.  The 
rocks  were  dry,  and  did  not  stick  to  his  hands.  He  started  to 
walk  on;  still  his  boots  stuck  fast. 

He  sat  down,  took  off  one  of  his  boots,  and  holding  it  in  his 


117 

hands,  began  to  touch  the  rocks  with  it.  When  he  touched 
them  with  the  leather  on  the  sole,  it  did  not  adhere ;  but  when 
he  touched  them  with  the  nails,  then  they  adhered. 

Magnes  had  a  crook  with  an  iron  point.  He  touched  the 
stones  with  the  wood ;  it  did  not  adhere.  But  when  he  touched 
them  with  the  iron,  it  clung  so  powerfully  that  he  had  to  pull 
it  away  by  main  force. 

Magnes  examined  the  stone,  saw  that  it  was  like  iron,  and 
carried  some  pieces  home  with  him.  From  that  time  they 
understood  this  stone,  and  called  it  touchstone,  or  magnet. 

Magnets  are  found  in  the  ground  in  the  form  of  iron  ore. 
The  best  iron  is  obtained  from  such  ore. 

If  a  piece  of  iron  is  put  on  the  magnetic  ore,  the  iron  also 
begins  to  attract  other  pieces  of  iron.  And  if  a  steel  needle  is 
placed  on  a  magnet  and  kept  there  for  some  time,  then  the 
needle  itself  becomes  a  magnet  and  is  able  to  attract  iron  to 
itself. 

If  a  needle  is  magnetized  by  being  left  some  time  with  a 
magnet,  and  is  balanced  on  a  point  in  such  a  way  that  it  will 
move  freely  on  the  point,  then  no  matter  in  which  way  the 
magnetic  needle  is  turned,  as  soon  as  it  is  set  free,  it  will  come 
to  rest  with  one  end  pointing  to  the  south,  the  other  pointing 
to  the  north.  The  north-seeking  end  is  called  the  south  pole 
and  the  south-seeking  end,  the  north  pole. 

If  two  magnetized  needles  are  laid  side  by  side  with  their 
like  poles  adjoining,  the  ends  will  repel  each  other ;  but  if  laid 
together  with  unlike  poles  adjoining,  the  ends  will  attract  each 
other.  If  a  magnetic  needle  is  broken  in  two,  then  again  each 
half  will  attract  at  one  end  and  repel  at  the  other.  And  if  it 
is  broken  again,  the  same  thing  will  happen.     No  matter  how 


118 

many  times  it  is  broken,  it  will  always  be  the  same — like  ends 
repelling,  unlike  ends  attracting;  just  as  though  the  magnet 
pushed  with  one  end  and  pulled  with  the  other..  And  however 
often  you  break  it,  one  end  will  always  push  and  the  other 
pull. 

Before  the  magnet  was  discovered  men  did  not  dare  to  sail 
very  far  out  on  the  sea.  Whenever  they  sailed  out  of  sight  of 
land,  they  could  judge  only  by  the  sun  and  the  stars  where 
they  were  going.  But  if  it  was  stormy,  and  the  sun  and  stars 
were  hidden,  they  had  no  way  of  telling  where  their  course 
lay;  so  the  vessel  would  often  drift  before  the  wind,  and  be 
dashed  on  the  rocks  and  go  to  pieces. 

Until  the  discovery  of  the  magnet  men  did  not  sail  on  the 
ocean  far  from  land ;  but  after  it  was  discovered,  they  made  use 
of  the  magnetic  needle  balanced  on  the  point  so  as  to  turn 
freely^.  By  means  of  this  needle  they  could  tell  in  which  direc- 
tion they  were  sailing.  With  the  magnetic  needle  they  began 
to  make  long  voyages  far  from  land,  and  afterwards  they  dis- 
covered many  new  countries. 

There  is  always  on  board  ship  a  magnetic  needle,  called  the 
compass.  They  have  also  a  measuring  line  with  knots  at  the 
stern  of  the  ship.  The  line  is  so  constructed  that  it  unwinds 
and  tells  how  fast  the  vessel  is  sailing. 

Thus  it  is,  that  sailors  can  tell  where  they  are  at  a  given 
time,  and  whether  they  are  far  from  land,  and  in  which  direc- 
tion they  are  going. 

LEON  TOLSTOI. 


a-stray',  out  of  the  right  way. 
ad-her'ing,  sticking  to. 


mag'ne-tized,   made   to    have   the 
power  to  attract  iron  or  steel. 
con-struct'ed,  made  and  adjusted. 


119 

LEON  TOLSTOI  is  a  Russian  novelist  and  reformer  who  was  born  in 
Tula,  Russia,  in  1828.  After  he  had  secured  a  University  education  he 
served  in  the  army  and  took  part  in  the  storming  of  Sebastopol  during  the 
Crimean  War.  .  After  the  serfs  of  Russia  were  freed  he  lived  on  his  estates, 
working  with  the  peasants  and  trying  to  improve  them.  His  leisure  he 
employed  in  studying  and  writing.  Some  of  his  novels  have  been  trans- 
lated into  several  European  languages  and  widely  read  in  other  countries 
besides  Russia.  In  almost  all  of  his  books  he  tries  to  bring  some  needed 
reform  to  the  attention  of  the  reading  world.  Among  his  works  are  "  War 
and  Peace,"  "Sebastopol/'  "The  Cossacks"  (composed  while  he  was  in 
the  army),  "Childhood,  Boyhood  and  Youth." 


THE    BUTTERFLY'S    BALL 

"  Come,  take  up  your  hats,  and  away  let  us  haste 
To  the  butterfly's  ball  and  the  grasshopper's  feast, 
The  trumpeter,  gadfly,  has  summoned  the  crew, 
And  the  revels  are  now  only  waiting  for  you." 

So  said  little  Robert,  and  pacing  along, 
His  merry  companions  came  forth  in  a  throng, 
And  on  the  smooth  grass  by  the  side  of  a  wood, 
Beneath  a  broad  oak  that  for  ages  had  stood, 
Saw  the  children  of  earth  and  the  tenants  of  air 
For  an  evening's  amusement  together  repair. 

And  there  came  the  beetle,  so  blind  and  so  black, 
Who  carried  the  emmet,  his  friend,  on  his  back. 
And  there  was  the  gnat  and  the  dragon-fly  too, 
With  all  their  relations,  green,  orange,  and  blue. 
And  there  came  the  moth,  with  his  plumage  of  down, 
And  the  hornet  in  jacket  of  yellow  and  brown; 


120 

Who  with  him  the  wasp,  his  companion,  did  bring, 
But  they  promised  that  evening  to  lay  by  their  sting. 
And  the  sly  little  dormouse  crept  out  of  his  hole, 
And  brought  to  the  feast  his  blind  brother,  the  mole. 
And  the  snail,  with  his  horns  peeping  out  of  his  shell, 
Came  from  a  great  distance,  the  length  of  an  ell. 

A  mushroom  their  table,  and  on  it  was  laid 
A  water-dock  leaf,  which  a  table-cloth  made. 
The  viands  were  various,  to  each  of  their  taste, 
And  the  bee  brought  her  honey  to  crown  the  repast. 
Then  close  on  his  haunches,  so  solemn  and  wise, 
The  frog  from  a  corner  looked  up  at  the  skies ; 
And  the  squirrel,  well  pleased  such  diversions  to  see, 
Mounted  high  overhead  and  looked  down  from  a  tree. 

Then  out  came  the  spider,  with  finger  so  fine, 

To  show  his  dexterity  on  the  tight-line. 

From  one  branch  to  another,  his  cobwebs  he  slung, 

Then  quick  as  an  arrow  he  darted  along, 

But  just  in  the  middle — oh !  shocking  to  tell, 

From  his  rope,  in  an  instant,  poor  harlequin  fell. 

Yet  he  touched  not  the  ground,  but  with  talons  outspread, 

Hung  suspended  in  air,  at  the  end  of  a  thread. 

Then  the  grasshopper  came  with  a  jerk  and  a  spring, 
Very  long  was  his  leg,  though  but  short  was  his  wing; 
He  took  but  three  leaps,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight, 
Then  chirped  his  own  praises  the  rest  of  the  night. 

With  step  so  majestic  the  snail  did  advance, 
And  promised  the  gazers  a  minuet  to  dance ; 


121 

But  they  all  laughed  so  loud  that  he  pulled  in  his  head, 
And  went  in  his  own  little  chamber  to  bed. 
Then  as  evening  gave  way  to  the  shadows  of  night, 
Their  watchman,  the  glowworm,  came  out  with  a  light. 

"  Then  home  let  us  hasten,  while  yet  we  can  see, 
For  no  watchman  is  waiting  for  you  and  for  me." 
So  said  little  Robert,  and  pacing  along, 
His  merry  companions  returned  in  a  throng. 

T.  ROSCOE. 


min'u-et,  an  old  time  dance. 
ten/ant§,  dwellers. 
em'met,  a  small  insect  like  an  ant. 
dor'mouse",  a  small  animal  which 

lies  torpid  in  winter. 
re-pair',  to  betake  one's  self. 


ell,  length  of  the  forearm. 
viands,  foods. 
haunch'es,  hind  legs. 
di'ver'sions,  sports. 
dex-ter'i-ty,  skill. 


T.  ROSCOE  (1790-1871)  was  an  English  author  and  translator.  He 
wrote  poems  and  tales,  and  translated  some  books  about  literature  and 
art  into  English.  "A  Tour  in  the  Isle  of  Wight "  is  the  name  of  one  of  his 
books.  "  The  Butterfly's  Ball "  is  a  gay  little  poem  that  children  are  very 
fond  of. 

Separate  the  complex  sentences  into  simple  sentences: 

1.  The  blind  and  black  beetle,  who  carried  the  emmet  on  his  back, 
came. 

2.  The  hornet,  who  brought  with  him  the  wasp,  his  companion,  came 
in  jacket  of  yellow  and  brown. 

3.  On  their  table  was  laid  a  water-dock  leaf,  which  made  a  table-cloth. 

4.  Their  watchman,  who  was  a  glowworm,  came  out  with  a  light. 

5.  The  emmet,  who  is  the  friend  of  the  beetle,  came  with  him. 

Find  or  make,  and  write  out  ten  complex  sentences  whose  dependent 
clauses  are  introduced  by  who,  whose,  whom,  which,  or  that. 
By  what  mark  are  dependent  clauses  generally  set  off? 


122 


MUIRTOWN    SEMINARY    BOYS 

It  was  Bulldog's  way  to  promenade  the  empty  schoolroom 
for  ten  minutes  before  the  reassembling  at  two,  and  it  was  rare 
indeed  that  a  boy  should  be  late.  When  one  afternoon  there 
were  only  nineteen  present  and  forty-three  absent,  he  could  only 
look  at  Dowbiggin,  and  when  that  exemplary  youth  explained 
that  the  school  had  gone  up  to  the  top  of  the  Meadow  to  bathe, 
and  suggested  that  they  were  still  enjoying  themselves,  Bull- 
dog was  much  lifted. 

"  Bathing  is  a  healthy  exercise,  and  excellent  for  the  mind, 
but  it's  necessary  to  bring  a  glow  to  the  skin  afterwards,  or 
there  might  be  a  chill/'  he  said,  as  he  searched  out  and  felt 
a  superior  cane  kept  for  the  treatment  of  truants  and  other 
grievous  offenders. 

It  was  exactly  2:15  when  the  door  opened  and  a  procession 
of  forty-two  entered  panting  and  breathless,  headed  by  Dun- 
can Robertson,  who  carried  his  head  erect,  with  a  light  in  his 
eye,  and  closed  by  Peter  McGuffie,  whose  hair  was  like  unto 
that  of  a  drowned  rat,  and  whose  unconcealed  desire  was  for 
obscurity. 

"  I've  had  charge  of  the  departments  of  writing  and  mathe- 
matics in  the  Muirtown  Seminary,"  began  Bulldog,  "  for  fifty- 
five  years  laist  Martinmas,  and  near  eighteen  hundred  laddies 
hae  passed  through  my  hands.  Some  o'  them  were  gude  and 
some  were  bad  " — Mr.  MacKinnon  spoke  with  a  judicial  calm 
that  was  awful — "  some  were  your  grandfathers,  some  were 
your  fathers;  but  such  a  set  of  impudent,  brazen-faced  little 
scoundrels —  What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourselves,  for  it 
will  be  three  weeks  before  I  am  over  with  you  all?  " 


123 

For  a  while  no  one  moved,  and  then  Duncan  Robertson  rose  in 
his  place  and  made  speech  for  his  fellows  like  a  gentleman's  son. 

"  We  are  sorry  for  being  late,  sir,  but  it  was  not  our  blame ; 
we  had  been  bathing  in  the  golfers'  pool,  and  were  dressing  to 
run  down  to  school  in  good  time.      Little  Eestie — I  mean  Er- 


nest Molyneux,  sir, — had  stayed  in  a  little  longer,  and  some  one 
cried,  '  Nestie's  drowning ! '  and  there  the  little  chap  was,  being 
carried  away  by  the  current." 

"  Is  '  Nestie  *  drowned  ?  "  and  they  all  noticed  the  break  in 
Bulldog's  voice,  and  remembered  that  if  he  showed  indulgence 
to  anyone,  it  was  to  the  little  English  lad  that  had  appeared  in 
Muirtown  life  as  one  out  of  due  place. 

"  No,  sir,  Nestie's  safe,  and  some  women  have  taken  him 
horiie;  but  he  was  very  nearly  gone,"  and  Dune  was  plainly 


124 

shaken.  "  It  would  have  been  terrible  to  see  him  die  before  our 
eyes." 

"  Who  saved  Nestie  ?  "  Bulldog's  face  was  white,  and  Jock 
declared  afterwards  that  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  was  one  of  the  boys,  sir,  and  it  was  a  gallant  deed," 
answered  Robertson ;  "  but  I  can't  give  his  name,  because  he 
made  me  promise  not  to  tell." 

The  master  looked  around  the  school,  and  there  was  a  flush 
on  his  cheek.  "  John  Howieson,"  with  a  voice  that  knew  no 
refusal,  and  Jock  stood  in  his  place.  "  Give  me  the  laddie's 
name  who  saved  Nestie." 

"It  was  Speug  [Sparrow],  sir,  and  it  was  michty;  but  I 
wouldna  hae  telt  had  ye  no  asked,  and  it's  no  my  blame,"  and 
Jock  cast  a  deprecatory  glance  where  Peter  was  striving  to  hide 
Himself  behind  a  slate. 

"  Peter  McGuffie,  come  out  this  moment,"  and  Peter,  who 
had  obeyed  this  order  in  other  circumstances  with  an  immov- 
able countenance,  now  presented  the  face  of  one  who  had 
broken  a  till. 

"  Tell  the  story,  Duncan  Robertson,  every  word  of  it,  that 
each  laddie  in  this  room  may  remember  it  as  lang  as  he  lives." 

"  We  had  nearly  all  dressed,  and  some  of  us  had  started  for 
school,  .  .  .  and  when  I  got  back  McGuffie  had  jumped  and 
was  out  in  the  current  waiting  for  E"estie  to  come  up.  We  saw 
his  face  at  last,  white  on  the  water,  and  shouted  to  Peter, 
and  ...  he  had  him  in  a  minute,  and  .  .  .  made  for  shore; 
big  swimming,  sir ;  not  one  of  us  could  have  done  it  except  him- 
self. A  salmon-fisher  showed  us  how  to  rub  Xestie  till  he  came 
round,  and  ...  he  smiled  to  us,  and  said,  i  I'm  all  right ; 
sorry  to  trouble  you  chaps.'  Then  we  ran  as  hard  as  we  could, 
and  .  .  .  that's  all,  sir." 


125 

"  No,  it  isn't,  Duncan  Kobertson,"  suddenly  broke  out  Speug, 
goaded  beyond  endurance ;  "  ye  helped  oot  Nestie  yourself,  and 
you're  ...  as  muckle  tae  blame  as  I  am." 

"  All  I  did,  sir," — and  Kobertson' s  face  was  burning  red, — 
"  was  to  meet  Peter  and  take  Nestie  off  his  hands  quite  near 
the  bank;  he  had  the  danger;  I  .  .  .  did  nothing — was  too 
late,  in  fact,  to  be  of  use." 

Speug  might  have  contested  this  barefaced  attempt  at  excul- 
pation, but  Bulldog  was  himself  again  and  gripped  the  reins 
of  authority. 

"  Silence !  "  and  his  emotion  found  vent  in  thunder ;  "  no 
arguing  in  my  presence.  You're  an  impudent  fellow,  Peter  Mc- 
Guffie,  and  have  been  all  your  days,  the  most  troublesome,  mis- 
chievous, upsetting  laddie  in  Muirtown  School,"  and  the  cul- 
prit's whole  mien  was  that  of  a  dog  with  a  bad  conscience. 
"  And  now  you  must  needs  put  the  capper  on  the  concern  with 
this  business ! 

"  There's  no  use  denying  it,  Peter,  for  the  evidence  is  plain  " 
— and  now  Bulldog  began  to  speak  with  great  deliberation. 
"  You  saw  a  little  laddie  out  of  his  depth  and  likely  to  be 
drowned."  (Peter  dared  not  lift  his  head;  it  was  going  to 
be  a  bad  case.) 

"  You  micht  have  given  the  alarm  and  got  the  salmon- 
fisher,  but,  instead  of  acting  like  ony  quiet,  decent,  well-brought- 
up  laddie,  and  walking  down  to  the  school  in  time  for  geom- 
etry "  (the  school  believed  that  the  master's  eye  rested  on 
William  Dowbiggin),  "you  jumped  clothes  and  all  into  the 
Tay."  (There  was  evidently  no  extenuating  feature,  and 
Peter's  expression  was  helpless.) 

"  Nor  was  that  all.  But  the  wicked  speerit  that's  in  you, 
Peter  McGuffie,  made  you  swim  out  where  the  river  was  run- 


126 

ning  strongest  and  an  able-bodied  man  wouldna  care  to  go. 
And  what  for  did  you  forget  yourself  and  risk  your  life  ?  " 
But  there  was  no  bravery  left  in  Peter  to  answer. 

"  Just  to  save  an  orphan  laddie  frae  a  watery  death.  And 
you  did  it,  Peter ;  and  it  .  .  .  beats  anything  else  you've  done 
since  you  came  into  Muirtown  Seminary.  As  for  you,  Duncan 
Robertson,  you  may  say  what  you  like,  but  it's  my  opinion  that 
you're  no  one  grain  better. 

"  Peter  got  in  first,  for  he's  a  perfect  genius  for  mischief — 
he's  aye  on  the  spot — but  you  were  after  him  as  soon  as  you 
could — you're  art  and  part,  baith  o'  you,  in  the  exploit."  It 
was  clear  now  that  Dune  was  in  the  same  condemnation  and 
would  share  the  same  reward ;  whereat  Peter's  heart  was  lifted, 
for  Robertson's  treachery  cried  for  judgment. 

"  Boys  of  Muirtown,  do  you  see  those  tablets  ?  " — and  Bull- 
dog pointed  to  the  lists  in  gold  of  the  former  pupils  who  had 
distinguished  themselves  over  the  world — prizemen,  soldiers, 
travelers,  writers,  preachers,  lawyers,  doctors.  "  It's  a  grand 
roll,  and  an  honor  to  have  a  place  in  it,  and  there  are  two 
new  names  to  be  added. 

"  Laddies  " — and  Bulldog  came  down  from  his  desk  and 
stood  opposite  the  culprits,  whose  one  wish  was  that  the  floor 
might  open  beneath  them  and  swallow  them  up — "  you  are  the 
sons  of  men,  and  I  know  that  you  had  the  beginnings  of  men  in 
you.  lam  proud  .  .  .  to  shake  hands  with  you,  and  to  be  .  .  . 
your  master.  Be  off  this  instant,  run  like  mad  to  your  homes 
and  change  your  clothes,  and  be  back  inside  half  an  hour,  or  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you !  And,  look  you  here,  I  would  like  to 
know  .  .  .  how  Nestie  is." 

His  walk  through  the  room  was  always  full  of  majesty,  but  on 
that  day  it  passed  imagination,  and  from  time  to  time  he  could 


127 

be  heard  in  a  soliloquy,  "  A  pair  of  young  rascals !  Men  of 
their  hands,  though,  men  of  their  hands !  Their  fathers'  sons ! 
Well  done,  Peter !  "  To  which  the  benches  listened  with  awe, 
for  never  had  they  known  Bulldog  after  this  fashion. 

When  the  school  assembled  on  the  next  Monday  morning  the 
boys  read  in  fresh,  shining  letters — 

"  Peter  McGuMe,  and  Duncan  R.  8.  Robertson,  who  at  the 
risk  of  their  own  lives  saved  a  schoolfellow  from  drowning." 

JOHN  WATSON. 


prom"e-nade',  to  walk  about. 
ex'em-pla-ry,  of  correct  habits. 
ob-scur'i-ty,  state  of  being  unseen. 
ju-di'cial,  pertaining  to  a  judge. 
un^con-cealed',  shown  openly. 
dep're-ca-to-ry,  beseeching. 
goad'ed,  urged  on. 
con-test'ed,  striven  for. 
ex"cul-pa'tion,  a  freeing  from  blame. 


ex-ten'u-a"ting,  serving  as  an  ex- 
cuse. 

con"dem-na'tion,  blame;  censure. 

treach'er-y,  bad  faith. 

curprit,  one  guilty  of  an  offense. 

so-liro-quy,  speech  made  to  one's 
self. 

in-dul'gence,  a  yielding  to  one's 
wishes. 


IAN  MACLAREN  (1849-  )  is  the  pen-name  of  the  Rev.  John  Watson, 
a  Scottish  clergyman  and  novelist.  He  was  born  in  England,  but  is  pure 
Scotch  for  all  that.  His  education  was  received  at  Edinburgh,  where  also 
he  studied  for  the  ministry.  He  is  now  the  minister  of  a  Presbyterian 
church  in  Liverpool.  "  Beside  the  Bonnie  Brier-Bush  "  is  his  most  famous 
book.  In  it  he  tells  stories  of  mixed  humor  and  pathos  about  lite  in  a 
rural  district  of  Scotland.  He  calls  the  district  Drumtochty.  Since  the 
book  has  become  so  famous,  Perthshire,  where  Mr.  Watson  had  his  first 
charge  as  a  minister,  has  come  to  be  called  Drumtochty.  "The  Days  of 
Auld  Lang  Syne"  is  also  popular.  The  story  of  Muirtown  Seminary 
Boys  is  from  "Young  Barbarians,"  one  of  Mr.  Watson's  books  that  young 
readers  will  enjoy. 


Write  a  real  or  an  imaginary  story  telling  how  some  one's  life  was 
saved. 


128 


CONCORD    HYMN 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
The  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 

RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON. 
vo'tive,  given  by  vow.  |    re-deem',  atone  for. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  (1803-82),  was  born  in  Boston,  and 
was  educated  at  Harvard  College.  He  taught  school,  and  later  became 
a  minister,  but  he  is  better  known  as  a  writer  than  as  a  preacher.  His 
works,  which  have  had  a  great  influence  on  the  literature  of  America, 
consist  largely  of  essays  and  poems.  "Concord  Hymn"  was  sung  at 
the  completion  of  the  Battle  Monument,  April  19,  1836. 


129 


PLAYING    THEATER    AT    RIVERMOUTH 

"  Now,  boys,  what  shall  we  do  ? "  I  asked,  addressing  a 
thoughtful  conclave  of  seven,  assembled  in  our  barn  one  dis- 
mal, rainy  afternoon. 

"  Let's  have  a  theater,"  suggested  Binny  Wallace. 

The  very  thing!  But  where?  The  loft  of  the  stable  was 
ready  to  burst  with  hay  provided  for  Gypsy,  but  the  long  room 
over  the  carriage-house  was  unoccupied.  The  place  of  all 
places !  My  eye  saw  at  once  its  possibilities  for  a  theater.  So 
here,  in  due  time,  was  set  up  some  extraordinary  scenery  of  my 
own  painting.  The  curtain,  I  recollect,  though  it  worked 
smoothly  enough  on  other  occasions,  invariably  hitched  during 
the  performances;  and  it  often  required  the  united  energies  of 
the  Prince  of  Denmark,  the  King,  and  the  Grave-digger,  with 
an  occasional  hand  from  "  the  fair  Ophelia  "  (Pepper  Whit- 
comb  in  a  low-necked  dress),  to  hoist  that  bit  of  green  cambric. 

The  theater  however,  was  a  success,  a3  far  as  it  went.  I  re- 
tired from  the  business  with  no  fewer  than  fifteen  hundred 
pins,  after  deducting  the  headless,  the  pointless,  and  the  crooked 
pins.  Prom  first  to  last  we  took  in  a  great  deal  of.  this  coun- 
terfeit money.  The  price  of  admission  to  the  "  Rivermouth 
Theater  "  was  twenty  pins.  I  played  all  the  principal  parts 
myself, — not  that  I  was  a  finer  actor  than  the  other  boys,  but 
because  I  owned  the  establishment. 

At  the  tenth  representation,  my  dramatic  career  was  brought 
to  a  close  by  an  unfortunate  circumstance.  We  were  playing 
the  drama  of  "  William  Tell,  the  Hero  of  Switzerland."  Of 
course  I  was  William  Tell  in  spite  of  Fred  Langdon,  who 
wanted  to  act  the  character  himself.     I  would  not  let  him,  so 


130 

he  withdrew  from  the  company,  taking  the  only  bow  and  arrow 
we  had.  I  made  a  cross-bow  out  of  a  piece  of  whalebone,  and 
did  very  well  without  him. 

We  had  reached  that  exciting  scene  where  Gessler,  the  Aus- 
trian tyrant,  commands  Tell  to  shoot  the  apple  from  his  son's 
head.  Pepper  Whitcomb,  who  played  all  the  juvenile  and 
women  parts,  was  my  son.  To  guard  against  mischance,  a  piece 
of  pasteboard  was  fastened  by  a  handkerchief  over  the  upper 
part  of  Whitcomb's  face,  while  the  arrow  to  be  used  was  sewed 
up  in  a  strip  of  flannel.  I  was  a  capital  marksman,  and  the 
big  apple,  only  two  yards  distant,  turned  its  russet  cheek  fairly 
towards  me. 

I  can  see  poor  little  Pepper  now,  as  he  stood  without  flinch- 
ing, waiting  for  me  to  perform  my  great  feat.  I  raised  my 
cross-bow  amid  the  breathless  silence  of  the  crowded  audience, 
— consisting  of  seven  boys  and  three  girls,  exclusive  of  Kitty 
Collins,  who  insisted  on  paying  her  way  with  a  clothes-pin.  I 
raised  the  bow,  I  repeat.  Twang!  went  the  whipcord;  but, 
alas!  instead  of  hitting  the  apple,  the  arrow  flew  right  into 
Pepper  Whitcomb's  mouth,  which  happened  to  be  open  at  the 
time,  and  destroyed  my  aim. 

I  shall  never  be  able  to  banish  that  moment  from  my  mem- 
ory. Pepper's  roar,  expressive  of  astonishment,  indignation, 
pain,  is  still  ringing  in  my  ears.  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  corpse, 
and  glancing  not  far  into  the  dreary  future,  pictured  myself 
led  forth  to  execution  in  the  presence  of  the  very  same  specta- 
tors then  assembled. 

Luckily  poor  Pepper  was  not  seriously  hurt;  but  Grand- 
father Nutter,  appearing  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  (at- 
tracted by  the  howls  of  young  Tell),  issued  an  order  against 
all  theatricals  hereafter,  and  the  place  was  closed ;  not,  however, 


131 

without  a  farewell  speech  from  me,  in  which  I  said  that  this 
would  have  been  the  proudest  moment  of  mj  life,  if  I  had  not 
hit  Pepper  Whitcomb  in  the  mouth. 

Thereupon  the  audience  (assisted,  I  am  glad  to  state,  by 
Pepper)  cried  "  Hear !  hear !  "  I  then  attributed  the  ac- 
cident to  Pepper  himself,  whose  mouth,  being  open  at  the  in- 
stant I  fired,  acted  upon  the  arrow  much  after  the  fashion  of 
a  whirlpool,  and  drew  in  the  fatal  shaft.  I  was  about  to  explain 
how  a  comparatively  small  whirlpool  could  suck  in  the  largest 
ship,  when  the  curtain  fell  of  its  own  accord,  amid  the  shouts 
of  the  audience. 

This  was  my  last  appearance  on  the  stage.  It  was  some  time, 
though,  before  I  heard  the  end  of  the  William  Tell  business. 
Malicious  little  boys,  who  had  not  been  allowed  to  buy  tickets 
to  my  theater,  used  to  cry  after  me  in  the  street, — 

"Who  killed  Cock  Robin? 
'I'  said  the  sparrer, 
'With  my  bow  and  arrer, 
I  killed  Cock  Robin."' 

The  sarcasm  of  this  verse  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  And 
it  made  Pepper  Whitcomb  pretty  angry  to  be  called  Cock  Eobin, 
I  can  tell  you ! 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH. 


con'clave,  a  private  meeting. 
coun'ter-feit,  not  true  or  genuine. 
in-va'ri-a-bly,  always. 
dra-mat'ic,  relating  to   a  play  or 

drama. 
ex-clu'sive,  not  taking  account  of. 


ex-e-cu'tion,  a  putting  to  death, 

a  penalty. 
spec-ta'tors,  those  who  look  on. 
at-trib'u-ted,  assigned  as  a  cause. 
ma-li'cious,  with  evil  intention. 
sar'casm,  cutting  wit. 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  is  an  American  poet  and  novelist. 
He  was  born  in  New  Hampshire  in  1836.     From  1881  to  1890  he  was  the 


132 

editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  His  writings  include  novels,  poetry  and 
essays.  Some  of  his  books  have  a  strain  of  humor  in  them  that  is  very 
likable.  He  knows,  too,  how  to  give  his  readers  interesting  surprises. 
If  you  would  like  to  prove  this  assertion,  read  his  little  novel,  "Marjorie 
Daw."  "The  Queen  of  Sheba"  is  another  of  his  novels.  Some  of  his 
poems  are  widely  known  and  greatly  liked  by  young  readers.  "  Playing 
Theatre  at  Monmouth"  is  taken  from  the  "Story  of  a  Bad  Boy." 


HELENA    OF    BRITAIN 


This  little  girl  of  fourteen,  Helena,  was  a  princess.  Her 
father  was  Coel,  second  prince  of  Britain  and  king  of  that  part 
of  ancient  England  which  includes  the  present  shires  of  Es- 
sex and  Suffolk,  about  the  river  Colne. 

Not  a  very  large  kingdom  this,  but  even  as  small  as  it  was, 
King  Coel  did  not  hold  it  in  undisputed  sway.  For  he  was  one 
of  the  tributary  princes  of  Britain,  in  the  days  when  Roman 
arms,  and  Roman  law,  and  Roman  dress,  and  Roman  man- 
ners, had  place  and  power  throughout  England,  from  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  to  the  Northern  highlands,  behind  whose  forest- 
crowned  hills  those  savage  natives  known  as  the  Picts — "  the 
tattooed  folk,"  held  possession  of  ancient  Scotland,  and  defied 
the  eagles  of  Rome. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  curious  state  of  affairs  in  England.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  many  girls  and  boys,  no  matter  how  well  they 
stand  in  their  history  classes,  have  ever  thought  of  the  England 
of  Hereward  and  Ivanhoe,  of  Paul  Dombey  and  Tom  Brown, 
as  a  Roman  land. 

And  yet  at  the  time  of  this  little  princess,  the  island  of 
Britain,  in  at  least  its  southern  part,  was  almost  as  Roman  in 


133 

manner,  custom,  and  speech  as  was  Kome  itself.  For  nearly 
five  hundred  years,  from  the  days  of  Caesar  the  conqueror,  to 
those  of  Honorius  the  Unfortunate,  was  England,  or  Britain 
as  it  was  called,  a  Roman  province.  At  this  date,  the  year  255 
a.d.,  the  beautiful  island  had  so  far  grown  out  of  the  barbarisms 
of  ancient  Britain  as  to  have  long  since  forgotten  the  gloomy 
rites  and  open-air  altars  of  the  Druids,  and  all  the  half-savage 
surroundings  of  those  stern  old  priests. 

Throughout  the  land,  south  of  the  massive  wall  which  the 
great  Emperor  Hadrian  had  stretched  across  the  island  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Solway  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tyne,  the  people 
themselves  had  gathered  into  or  about  the  thirty  growing  Roman 
cities,  founded  and  beautified  by  the  conquerors.  The  educa- 
tional influence  of  Home,  always  following  the  course  of  her 
conquering  eagles,  had  planted  schools  and  colleges  throughout 
the  land. 

As  Helena  was  the  only  daughter  of  King  Coel,  he  had  given 
her  the  finest  education  that  Rome  could  offer.  She  was,  so  we 
are  told,  a  fine  musician,  a  marvelous  worker  in  tapestry,  in 
hammered  brass  and  pottery,  and  was  altogether  as  wise  and 
wonderful  a  young  person  as  even  these  later  centuries  can 
show. 

But  for  all  this  grand  education,  she  loved  to  hear  the  leg- 
ends and  stories  of  her  people  which  in  various  ways  would 
come  to  her  ears,  either  as  the  simple  tales  of  her  British  nurse, 
or  in  the  wild  songs  of  the  wandering  bards,  or  singers. 

As  she  listened  to  these,  she  thought  less  of  the  crude  and 
barbaric  ways  of  her  ancestors  than  of  their  national  independ- 
ence and  freedom  from  the  galling  yoke  of  Rome.  As  was  nat- 
ural, she  cherished  the  memory  of  Boadicea,  the  warrior  queen, 
and  made  a  hero  of  the  fiery  young  Caractacus. 


HELENA   OF   BRITAIN 


135 

"Now,  "  old  King  Cole/'  as  Mother  Goose  tells  us — for  young 
Helena's  father  was  none  other  than  the  veritable  "  old  King 
Cole  "  of  our  nursery  jingle — was  a  "  jolly  old  soul,"  and  a 
jolly  old  soul  is  rarely  an  independent  or  ambitious  one.  So 
long  as  he  could  have  "  his  pipe  and  his  bowl " — not,  of  course, 
his  long  pipe  of  tobacco  that  all  the  Mother  Goose  artists  give 
him,  but  the  reed  pipe  upon  which  his  musicians  played — so 
long,  in  other  words,  as  he  could  live  in  ease  and  comfort,  undis- 
turbed by  his  Roman  overlords,  he  cared  for  no  change.  Rome 
took  the  responsibility,  and  he  took  things  easily. 

But  there  came  a  change,  and  one  day  King  Coel  received 
dispatches  from  Rome  demanding  a  special  and  unexpected 
tax  levy,  or  tribute,  to  meet  the  expense  of  the  new  Emperor 
Diocletian.  Other  things  had  happened  to  increase  his  ill  tem- 
per, and  his  "  jolly  old  soul "  was  vexed  by  numerous  crosses 
that  day.  The  words  of  Helena  and  her  cousin,  the  admiral, 
carried  the  day  with  Coel,  and  the  standard  of  revolt  was  raised. 

The  young  admiral  hastened  back  to  France,  whence  he  did 
not  return,  while  the  king,  spurred  on  to  action  by  the  pa- 
triotic Helena,  gathered  a  hasty  following,  and  won  over  to  his 
cause  the  British-filled  legion  in  his  palace-town.  Then,  de- 
scending upon  the  nearest  Roman  camps  and  stations,  he  sur- 
prised, captured,  scattered,  or  brought  over  their  soldiers,  and 
proclaimed  himself  free  from  the  yoke  of  Rome  and  supreme 
prince  of  Britain. 


an'cient,  old. 

trib'u-ta-ry,  subject  to  another. 

tat-tooecT,  having  pictures  pricked 

into   the   skin  with  a  needle 

dipped  in  ink. 
mas'sive,  very  large  and  solid. 


tap'es-try,  cloth  with  figures  woven 

in. 
an'ces-tors,  forefathers. 
ver'i-ta-ble,  real;  genuine. 
bar'ba-risms?  rude  customs, 


136 

HELENA   OF    BRITAIN 

II 

King  Coel,  after  his  first  successes,  knew  that  unaided  he 
could  not  hope  to  withstand  the  Roman  force  that  must  finally 
be  brought  against  him.  Though  urged  to  constant  action  by* 
his  wise  young  daughter,  he  preferred  to  do  nothing.  Satis- 
fied with  the  acknowledgment  of  his  power  in  and  about  his 
little  kingdom  on  the  Colne,  he  spent  his  time  in  his  palace  with 
the  musicians  that  he  loved  so  well  and  the  big  bowl  that  he  also 
loved. 

The  musicians — the  pipers  and  the  harpers — sang  his  praises, 
and  told  of  his  mighty  deeds.  Eo  doubt,  their  refrain  was  very 
much  the  same  as  the  one  in  the  jingle  of  Mother  Goose: 

"Oh,  none  so  rare  as  can  compare 

With  King  Cole  and  his  fiddlers  three." 

But  if  the  pleasure-loving  old  king  was  listless,  young  Helena 
was  not.  So,  while  she  advised  with  her  father's  boldest  cap- 
tains, and  strengthened  so  wisely  the  walls  of  ancient  Colches- 
ter, or  Camalodunum,  that  traces  of  her  work  still  remain  as 
proof  of  her  untiring  zeal,  she  still  cherished  the  hope  of  Brit- 
ish freedom  and  release  from  Rome. 

The  legions  came  to  Camalodunum.  Across  Gaul  and  over 
the  choppy  channel  they  came.  Up  through  the  mouth  of  the 
Thames  they  sailed,  and  landing  at  Londinium,  marched  in 
close  array  along  the  broad  Roman  road  that  led  straight  up  to 
the  gates  of  Camalodunum. 

The  Roman  trumpets  sounded  before  the  gate  of  the  belea- 


137 

guered  city,  and  the  herald  of  the  prefect,  standing  out  from  his 
circle  of  guards,  cried  the  summons  to  surrender. 

"  Coel  of  Britain,  traitor  to  the  Roman  people  and  to  thy 
lord  the  Emperor,  hear  thou !  In  the  name  of  the  Senate  and 
People  of  Rome,  I,  Constantius  the  prefect,  charge  thee  to 
deliver  up  to  them,  this,  their  City  of  Camalodunum,  and  thine 
own  rebel  body  as  well.  This  done,  they  will  in  mercy  pardon 
the  crime  of  treason  to  the  city,  and  will  work  their  will  and 
punishment  only  upon  thee — the  chief  rebel.  And  if  this  be 
not  done  within  the  appointed  time,  then  will  the  walls  of 
this,  their  town  of  Camalodunum  be  overthrown,  and  thou  and 
all  thy  people  be  given  the  certain  death  of  traitors." 

King  Coel  heard  the  summons,  and  some  spark  of  that  pa- 
triotism which  inspired  and  incited  his  valiant  little  daughter 
flamed  in  his  heart. 

"  I  can  at  least  die  with  my  people,"  he  said. 

But  young  Helena  interposed.  "  As  I  have  been  the  cause, 
so  let  me  be  the  end  of  trouble,  my  father,"  she  said.  "  Say 
to  the  prefect  that  in  three  hours'  time  the  British  envoy  will 
come  to  his  camp  with  the  king's  answer." 

Then  Helena  herself  went  as  envoy  to  the  prefect.  "  What 
wouldst  thou  with  me,  maiden  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Coel  of  Britain,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
am  come  to  sue  for  pardon  and  for  peace." 

"  The  Roman  people  have  no  quarrel  with  the  girls  of  Brit- 
ain," said  the  prefect.  "  Has  King  Coel  fallen  so  low  in  state 
that  a  maiden  must  plead  for  him  ? 

"He  has  not  fallen  at  all,  O  Prefect,"  replied  the  girl; 
"  the  king,  my  father,  would  withstand  thy  force  but  that  I 
know  the  cause  of  this  unequal  strife,  and  seek  to  make  terms 
with  the  victors." 


138 

Constantius  Chlorus  was  a  humane  and  gentle  man,  fierce 
enough  in  fight,  but  seeking  never  needlessly  to  wound  an 
enemy  or  lose  a  friend.     "  What  are  thy  terms  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  If  but  thou  wilt  remove  thy  cohorts  to  Londinium,"  replied 
Helena,  ."  I  pledge  my  father's  faith  and  mine,  that  he  will 
within  five  days,  deliver  to  thee  as  hostage  for  his  fealty,  myself 
and  twenty  children  of  his  councilors  and  captains.  And  I 
bind  myself  to  deliver  to  thee  the  chief  rebel  in  this  revolt,  the 
one  to  whose  counseling  this  strife  with  Rome  is  due." 

The  offered  terms  pleased  the  prefect,  and  he  said,  "  Be 
it  so." 

The  girl  returned  to  her  father.  x\gain  the  old  king  rebelled 
at  the  terms  his  daughter  had  made.  "  I  have  pledged  my  word 
and  thine,  O  King,"  said  Helena.  "  Surely  a  Briton's  pledge 
should  be  as  binding  as  a  Roman's."  So  she  carried  her  point, 
and  she  with  twenty  of  the  boys  and  girls  of  Camalodunum 
went  as  hostages  to  the  Roman  camp  in  London. 

"  Here  are  thy  hostages,  Princess,"  said  the  prefect  as  he 
received  the  children ;  "  but  remember  the  rest  of  thy  compact. 
Deliver  to  me  now  the  chief  rebel  against  Rome." 

"  She  is  here,  O  Prefect,"  said  Helena,  "  I  am  that  rebel — 
Helena  of  Britain !  " 

The  prefect's  face  changed  to  sudden  sternness.  "  Trifle  not 
with  Roman  justice,  girl,"  he  said ;  "  I  demand  the  keeping  of 
thy  word." 

"  It  is  kept,"  replied  the  princess.  "  Helena  of  Britain  is  the 
cause  of  this  revolt  against  Rome.  If  it  be  rebellion  for  a  free 
prince  to  claim  his  own,  if  it  be  rebellion  for  a  prince  to  with- 
stand for  the  sake  of  his  people  the  unjust  demands  of  the 
conqueror,  if  it  be  rebellion  for  one  who  loves  her  father  to  urge 
that  father  to  valiant  deeds  in  defence  of  the  liberties  of  the 


139     ' 

land  over  which  he  rules  as  king,  then  am  I  a  rebel,  for  I  have 
done  all  these,  and  only  because  of  my  words  did  the  king,  my 
father,  take  up  arms  against  the  might  and  power  of  Rome.  I 
am  the  chief  rebel." 

Now  the  prefect  saw  that  the  girl  spoke  the  truth,  and  that 
she  had  indeed  kept  her  pledge. 

"  Thy  father  and  his  city  are  pardoned,"  he  announced  after 
a  few  moments.  "  Remain  thou  here,  thou  and  thy  compan- 
ions, as  hostages  for  Britain  until  such  time  as  I  shall  deter- 
mine upon  the  punishment  due  to  one  who  is  so  fierce  a  rebel 
against  the  power  of  Rome." 

So  the  siege  of  Camalodunum  was  raised,  and  the  bloodless 
rebellion  ended.  Constantius  the  prefect  took  up  his  residence 
for  awhile  within  King  Coel's  city.  Then  at  last  he  returned 
to  his  command  in  Gaul  and  Spain,  well  pleased  with  the  spirit 
of  the  little  girl  whom,  so  he  claimed,  he  still  held  in  his  power 
as  the  prisoner  of  Rome. 

ELBBIDGE  S.  BROOKS. 


chop'py,  rough  with  waves. 
be-leag'ured,  surrounded  by  foes. 
tractors,  those  who  betray. 
pa'tri-o-tism,  love  of  country. 
in-ter-posed',  came  between. 
co'hort,  a  division  of  the  Roman 
army. 


pre'fect,  a  Roman  officer. 

hos'ta-ges,  persons  given  to  se- 
cure good  conduct  from  their 
friends. 

com'pact,  an  agreement. 

fe'al-ty,  fidelity  to  an  overlord. 

Dru'ids,  an  order  of  priests. 


ELBRIDGE  S.  BROOKS  (1846-1902)  was  born  in  Lowell,  Massa- 
chusetts. When  he  was  thirteen  years  old,  his  parents  removed  to  New 
York  City,  where  the  boy  was  educated  in  the  Free  Academy.  He  was 
fond  of  literature  and  history,  and  early  became  a  writer.  Most  of  his 
books  are  very  interesting  to  young  people.  Among  them  are  "Historic 
Boys,"  "Historic  Girls,"  in  which  this  story  of  "Helena"  is  found,  and 
"  The  Century  Book  for  Young  Americans."  The  selection  is  used  by 
permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons. 


140 


AMONG   THE    PEARLS 


"  Here  we  are,  M.  Arronax,"  said  Captain  Nemo.  "  You 
see  that  inclosed  bay  ?    Here,  in  a  month,  will  be  assembled  the 

numerous  fishing-boats  of  ex- 
porters, and  these  are  the 
waters  their  divers  will  ran- 
sack so  boldly. 

"  Happily,  this  bay  is  well 
situated  for  that  kind  of  fish- 
ing. It  is  sheltered  from  the 
strongest  winds;  the  sea  is 
never  rough  here, — a  condition 
that  makes  it  favorable  for  the 
divers'  work.  We  will  now 
put  on  our  dresses,  and  begin 
our  walk." 

Soon  we  were  enveloped 
to  the  throat  in  india-rubber 
clothing;  the  air  apparatus  was  fixed  to  our  backs  by  braces. 
One  last  question  remained  to  ask  Captain  Nemo. 
"  And  our  arms?  "  asked  I;  "  our  guns?  " 
"Guns!  what  for?  Do  not  mountaineers  attack  the  bear 
with  a  dagger,  and  is  it  not  surer  than  lead?  Here  is  a  strong 
blade;  put  it  in  your  belt,  and  we  start." 

I  looked  at  my  companions;  they  were  armed  like  us,  and, 
more  than  that,  Ned  Land  was  brandishing  an  enormous  har- 
poon, which  he  had  placed  on  the  boat  before  leaving  the 
Nautilus. 


JULES    VERNE 


141 

Then,  following  the  captain's  example,  I  allowed  myself  to 
be  dressed  in  the  heavy  copper  helmet,  and  our  reservoirs  of  air 
were  at  once  in  activity.  An  instant  after,  we  were  landed, 
one  after  the  other,  in  about  two  feet  of  water  upon  an  even 
sand.  Captain  Nemo  made  a  sign  with  his  hand,  and  we  fol- 
lowed him  by  a  gentle  declivity,  till  we  disappeared  under  the 
waves. 

Over  our  feet,  like  coveys  of  snipe  in  a  bag,  rose  shoals  of 
fish,  of  a  genus  that  have  no  other  fins  but  their  tail.  I  recog- 
nized the  Javanese,  a  real  serpent,  two  and  a  half  feet  long, 
of  a  livid  color  underneath,  which  might  easily  be  mistaken 
for  a  conger  eel,  if  it  were  not  for  the  golden  stripes  on  its  sides. 

The  heightening  sun  lit  the  mass  of  waters  more  and  more. 
The  soil  changed  by  degrees.  To  the  fine  sand  succeeded  a 
perfect  causeway  of  boulders,  covered  with  a  carpet  of  small 
plant-like  animals.  About  seven  o'clock  we  found  ourselves 
at  last  surveying  the  oyster-banks,  on  which  the  pearl-oysters 
are  produced  by  millions. 

In  a  moment  there  opened  before  us  a  large  grotto  dug  in  a 
picturesque  heap  of  rocks  and  carpeted  with  all  the  thick  warp 
of  the  submarine  flora.  After  descending  a  rather  sharp  decliv- 
ity, our  feet  trod  the  bottom  of  a  kind  of  circular  pit. 

There  Captain  Nemo  stopped,  and  with  his  hand  indicated 
an  object  that  I  had  not  yet  perceived.  It  was  an  oyster  of 
extraordinary  dimensions,  a  giant  of  its  kind.  I  approached 
this  wonderful  mollusk,  which  adhered  to  a  table  of  granite, 
and  there  isolated,  developed  itself  in  the  calm  waters  of  the 
grotto. 

Captain  Nemo  was  evidently  acquainted  with  the  existence 
of  this  bivalve.  He  seemed  also  to  have  a  particular  reason 
for  making  sure  of  its  condition. 


142 

The  shells  were  a  little  open.  The  captain  came  near  and 
put  his  dagger  between  to  prevent  them  from  closing.  Then 
with  his  hand  he  raised  the  membrane  with  its  fringed  edges, 
which  formed  a  cloak  for  the  creature. 

There,  between  the  folded  plaits,  I  saw  a  loose  pearl,  whose 
size  equaled  that  of  a  cocoanut.  Its  globular  shape,  perfect 
clearness,  and  admirable  luster  made  it  altogether  a  jewel  of 
highest  value. 

Carried  away  by  my  curiosity,  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to 
seize  it,  weigh  it,  and  touch  it;  but  the  captain  stopped  me, 
made  a  sign  of  refusal,  and  quickly  withdrew  his  dagger.  The 
two  shells  closed  suddenly. 

I  then  "understood  Captain  Nemo's  intention.  In  leaving 
this  pearl  hidden  in  the  mantle  of  the  bivalve,  he  was  allowing 
it  to  grow  slowly.  Each  year  the  secretions  of  the  mollusk 
would  add  new  concentric  layers.  I  estimated  its  value  at  five 
hundred  thousand  pounds  at  least. 

After  ten  minutes  Captain  Nemo  stopped  suddenly.  I 
thought  that  he  had  halted  with  a  view  to  returning.  No; 
by  a  gesture  he  bade  us  crouch  beside  him  in  a  deep  fissure 
of  the  rock,  and  his  hand  pointed  to  one  part  of  the  liquid 
mass,  which  I  watched  attentively. 

About  ^.Ye  yards  from  me  a  shadow  appeared,  and  sank  to. 
the  ground.  The  disquieting  idea  of  sharks  shot  through  my 
mind,  but  I  was  mistaken ;  and  once  again  it  was  not  a  monster 
of  the  ocean  that  we  had  anything  to  do  with. 

It  was  a  man,  a  living  man,  an  Indian,  a  fisherman,  who,  I 
suppose,  had  come  to  glean  before  the  harvest.  I  could  see  the 
bottom  of  his  canoe  anchored  some  feet  above  his  head.  He 
dived  and  went  up  successively. 

A  stone  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  sugar-loaf,  and  held  between 


143 

his  feet,  while  a  rope  fastened  him  to  the  boat,  helped  him  to 
descend  more  rapidly.     This  was  all  his  apparatus. 

Reaching  the  bottom,  about  five  yards  deep,  he  dropped  on 
his  knees  and  filled  his  bag  with  oysters  picked  up  at  random. 
Then  he  went  up,  emptied  it,  pulled  up  his  stone,  and  once 
more  began  the  operation,  which  lasted  thirty  seconds. 

The  diver  did  not  see  us.  The  shadow  of  the  rock  hid  us 
from  sight.  And  how  should  this  poor  Indian  ever  dream 
that  men,  beings  like  himself,  should  be  there  under  the  water, 
watching  his  movements,  and  losing  no  detail  of  the  fishing? 

Several  times  he  went  up  in  this  way,  and  dived  again.  He 
did  not  carry  away  more  than  ten  oysters  at  each  plunge,  for 
he  was  obliged  to  pull  them  from  the  bank  to  which  they  ad- 
hered. And  how  many  of  those,  for  which  he  risked  his  life, 
had  no  pearl  in  them!  I  watched  him  closely,  and  for  half  an 
hour  no  danger  appeared  to  threaten  him. 


ex-port'ers,  those  who  send  things 

abroad. 
con-cen/tric,  having  the  same  center. 
res'er-voirs",     storage    places     for 

water. 


de-cliv'i-ty,  a  sharp  descent. 
mol'lusk,  a  shellfish. 
grot'to,  a  cavern. 
sub"ma-rine',  beneath  the  sea. 
flo'ra,  plants,  collectively. 


AMONG   THE    PEARLS 

II 

I  was  beginning  to  accustom  myself  to  the  sight  of  this  in- 
teresting fishing,  when-  suddenly,  as  the  Indian  was  on  the 
ground,  I  saw  him  make  a  gesture  of  terror,  rise,  and  make  a 
spring  to  return  to  the  surface  of  the  sea.     I  understood  his 


144 

dread.  A  gigantic  shadow  appeared  just  above  the  unfortu- 
nate diver.  It  was  a  shark  of  enormous  size  advancing  diago- 
nally, his  eyes  on  fire,  and  his  jaws  open.  I  was  mute  with 
horror,  and  unable  to  move. 

The  voracious  creature  shot  toward  the  Indian,  who  threw 
himself  on  one  side,  in  order  to  avoid  the  shark's  fins;  but  not 
its  tail,  for  that  struck  his  chest,  and  stretched  him  on  the 
ground. 

This  scene  lasted  but  a  few  seconds.  The  shark  returned, 
and  turning  on  his  back,  prepared  himself  for  cutting  the 
Indian  in  two.  Then  I  saw  Captain  Nemo  rise  suddenly, 
and,  dagger  in  hand,  walk  straight  to  the  monster,  ready  to 
fight  face  to  face  with  him.  The  very  moment  the  shark  was 
going  to  snap  the  unhappy  fisherman  in  two,  he  perceived  his 
new  adversary,  and  turning  over,  made  straight  toward  him. 

I  can  still  see  Captain  Nemo's  position.  Holding  himself 
well  together,  he  waited  for  the  shark  with  admirable  cool- 
ness. When  it  rushed  at  him,  he  threw  himself  quickly  to  one 
side,  avoiding  the  shock,  and  buried  his  dagger  deep  in  its  side. 

But  it  was  not  all  over.  A  terrible  combat  ensued.  The 
shark  seemed  to  roar,  if  I  may  say  so.  The  blood  rushed  in 
torrents  from  its  wound.     The  sea  was  dyed  red. 

Through  the  opaque  liquid  I  could  distinguish  nothing  more, 
until  the  moment  when,  like  lightning,  the  undaunted  captain 
was  hanging  to  one  of  the  creature's  fins,  struggling,  as  it  were, 
hand  to  hand  with  the  monster.  Blow  upon  blow  the  man 
dealt  his  enemy,  yet  was  still  unable  to  give  a  decisive  one. 

The  shark's  struggles  agitated  the  water  with  such  fury  that 
the  rocking  threatened  to  upset  me.  I  wanted  to  go  to  the 
captain's  assistance,  but  nailed  to  the  spot  with  horror,  I  could 
not  stir. 


145 

I  saw  the  haggard  eye;  I  saw  the  different  phases  of  the 
fight.  The  captain  fell  to  the  earth  upset  by  the  enormous 
mass  that  leant  upon  him.  The  shark's  jaws  opened  wide,  like 
a  pair  of  factory  shears,  and  it  would  have  been  all  over  with 
the  captain,  but  quick  as  thought,  harpoon  in  hand,  Ned  Land 
rushed  toward  the  shark  and  struck  it  with  the  sharp  point. 

The  waves  were  colored  with  blood.  They  rocked  under 
the  shark's  movements,  which  beat  them  with  fury.  Ned  Land 
had  not  missed  his  aim.  It  was  the  monster's  death-rattle. 
Struck  to  the  heart,  it  struggled  in  dreadful  convulsions. 

Ned,  however,  had  disentangled  the  captain,  who,  getting 
up  without  any  wound,  went  straight  to  the  Indian.  Quickly 
he  cut  the  cord  that  held  the  poor  fellow  to  his  stone,  took 
him  in  his  arms,  and  with  a  sharp  blow  of  his  heel,  mounted 
to  the  surface. 

We  all  three  followed  in  a  few  seconds,  sa^ed  as  by  a  miracle, 
and  reached  the  fisherman's  boat.  Captain  Nemo's  first  care 
was  to  recall  the  man  to  life.  I  did  not  think  he  could  succeed. 
The  blow  from  the  shark's  tail  might  have  been  his  death' 
blow. 

Happily,  with  the  captain's  and  Conseil's  sharp  friction, 
consciousness  returned  by  degrees.  He  opened  his  eyes. 
What  was  his  surprise,  his  terror  even,  at  seeing  four  great 
copper  heads  leaning  over  him!  Above  all,  what  must  he  have 
thought  when  Captain  Nemo  drew  from  the  pocket  of  his  dress 
a  bag  of  pearls,  and  placed  it  in  his  hand? 

This  unexpected  charity  from  the  man  of  the  waters  to  the 
poor  pearl  fisher  was  accepted  with  a  trembling  hand.  His 
wondering  eyes  showed  that  he  knew  not  to  what  superior 
beings  he  owed  both  fortune  and  life. 

At  a  sign  from  the  captain  we  regained  the  bank,  and  fol- 


146 

lowing  the  road  already  traveled,  came  in  about  half  an  hour 
to  the  anchor  that  held  the  canoe  of  the  Nautilus  to  the  earth. 
Once  on  board,  we  got  rid  of  the  heavy  copper  helmets.  Cap- 
tain Nemo's  first  word  was  to  the  Canadian. 

"  Thank  you,  Master  Land,"  said  he. 

"  It  was  in  revenge,  captain,"  replied  Ned  Land.  "  I  owed 
you  that." 

A  smile  passed  across  the  captain's  lips,  and  that  was  all. 
"  To  the  Nautilus"  said  he. 

The  boat  flew  over  the  waves.  Some  minutes  later,  we  met 
the  shark's  dead  body  floating.  It  was  more  than  twenty- 
five  feet  long:  its  enormous  mouth  occupied  one-third  of  its 
body. 

Whilst  I  was  contemplating  this  inert  mass,  a  dozen  of  these 
voracious  beasts  appeared  round  the  boat ;  and  without  noticing 
us,  they  threw  themselves  upon  the  dead  body,  and  fought  with 
one  another  for  the  pieces. 

At  half  past  eight  we  were  again  on  board  the  Nautilus. 
There  I  reflected  on  the  incident  that  had  taken  place  in  our 
excursion  to  the  Manaar  Bank  on  the  coast  of  Ceylon. 

JULES   VERNE. 


o-paque',  not  to  be  seen  through. 
ag'i-ta"ted,  moved;  disturbed. 
fric'tion,   the    act   of  rubbing  the 
body  to  produce  heat. 


ad'ver-sa-ry,  one  opposed  to  an- 
other. 

vo-ra'cious,  fierce  and  greedy. 

in'ci-dent,  an  unexpected  occur- 
rence. 


JULES  VERNE  (1828-1905)  was  a  French  novelist  who  was  born  at 
Nantes  in  1828.  After  attending  the  schools  at  Nantes  he  went  to.  Paris 
and  studied  law.  He  was  not  so  much  interested  in  law,  however,  as  he 
was  in  literature,  and  by  and  by  he  began  writing  novels.  They  have 
been  translated  into  several  languages,  and  are  especially  popular  among 


147 

young  people.  "Five  Weeks  in  a  Balloon,"  "A  Journey  to  the  Center  of 
the  Earth,"  "A  Trip  to  the  Moon,"  "Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under 
the  Sea,"  and  "  Round  the  World  in  Eighty  Days  "  are  among  his  best. 


THE    CORAL   GROVE 

Deep  in  the  wave  is  a  coral  grove, 

Where  the  purple  mullet  and  goldfish  rove, 

Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue 

That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew, 

But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine 

Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine. 

The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain  drift, 

And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow ; 

From  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 

Their  boughs,  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow. 

The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 

For  the  waves  and  winds  are  absent  there ; 

And  the  sands  are  as  bright  as  the  sands  that  glow 

In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air. 

There,  with  its  waving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-flag  streams  through  the  silent  water, 
And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter. 
There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 
The  fan  coral  sweeps  through  the  clear  deep  sea ; 
And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 
Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea. 


148 

And  life  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms 

Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone, 

And  is  safe  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  storms 

Has  made  the  top  of  the  wave  his  own. 

And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies, 
When  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar, 

When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies, 
And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore ; 

Then,  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea, 
The  purple  mullet  and  goldfish  rove, 

Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly 

Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. 

JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 


cor'al,  limestone   taken   from 
water  by  the  coral  polyp. 
mul'let,  a  kind  of  fish. 
flint'y,  hard  like  flint. 


sea 


dulse,  a  sea  weed. 

tufts,  waving  or  bending  clusters, 

-    as  of  flowers. 
murk'y,  dark;  gloomy. 


JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL  (1795-1856),  an  American  poet,  was 
born  in  Connecticut.  He  was  graduated  at  Yale  and  afterward  studied 
medicine.  At  one  time  he  was  a  member  of  the  West  Point  faculty.  His 
poems  are  published  in  book  form  under  the  title  "The  Dream  of  a  Day, 
and  Other  Poems." 


Write  in  prose  the  thoughts  of  this  poem.     Change  sentences  and  words. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  there  is  a  grove  of  coral.  The  purple 
mullet  and  goldfish  swim  about  among  the  branches.  A  sea-flower, 
which  grows  there,  has  blue  leaves,  and  looks  very  bright  and  beautiful 
in  the  deep  water. 


Write  a  shoH  paper  telling  where  and  how  sponges  are  obtained. 


149 
THE    CADFS    DECISIONS 


Bou-Akas,  an  Arab  sheik,  had  heard  that  the  cadi  of  one 
of  his  twelve  tribes  administered  justice  in  a  manner  worthy 
of  King  Solomon  himself,  and  so  determined  to  test  the  truth 
of  the  report. 

Accordingly,  dressed  like  a  private  person,  and  mounted  on  a 
docile  Arabian  steed,  he  set  out  for  the  cadi's  town.  He  was 
just  entering  the  gate  when  a  cripple  seized  the  border  of  his 
garment  and  asked  him  for  alms.  Bou-Akas  gave  him  money, 
but  the  cripple. still  held  the  garment  fast. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  the  sheik.  "  I  have  already 
given  you  alms." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  beggar,  "  but  the  law  says  not  only, 
4  Thou  shalt  give  alms  to  thy  brother/  but  also,  •  Thou  shalt 
do  for  thy  brother  whatsoever  thou  canst.'  " 

"  Well :  and  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  save  me  from  being  trodden  under  the  feet  of 
men,  horses,  mules,  and  camels,  a  fate  that  would  certainly 
befall  me  in  passing  through  the  crowded  square  where  the  fair 
is  now  going  on." 

"  And  how  can  I  save  you  ?  " 

"  By  letting  me  ride  behind  you,  and  putting  me  down  safely 
in  the  market-place,  where  I  have  business." 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  Bou-Akas;  and  stooping  down,  he  helped 
the  cripple  to  get  up  behind  him. 

The  strangely-assorted  riders  attracted  many  eyes  as  they 
passed  through  the  crowded  streets,  and  at  length  they  reached 
the  market-place. 


150 

"  Is  this  where  you  wished  to  stop? "  asked  Bou-Akas. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  get  down." 

"  Get  down  yourself." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  leave  me  the  horse." 

"  To  leave  you  my  horse!     What  mean  you  by  that?  " 

"  I  mean  that  he  belongs  to  me.  Know  you  not  that  we  are 
in  the  town  of  the  just  cadi,  and  that  if  we  bring  the  case 
before  him,  he  will  certainly  decide  in  my  favor?  " 

"  Why  should  he  do  so  when  the  animal  belongs  to  me?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  that  when  he  sees  us  two, — you  with  your 
strong,  straight  limbs,  which  Allah  has  given  you  for  the  pur- 
pose of  walking,  and  I  with  my  weak  legs  and  distorted  feet, — 
he  will  decree  that  the  horse  shall  belong  to  him  who  has  most 
need  of  him? " 

"  Should  he  do  so,  he  would  not  be  the  just  cadi,"  said  Bou- 
Akas. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  replied  the  cripple,  laughing,  "  although 
he  is  just,  he  is  not  infallible." 

"  So,"  thought  the  sheik  to  himself,  "  this  will  be  a  capital 
opportunity  of  judging  the  judge."  He  said  aloud,  "  I  am 
content;  we  will  go  before  the  cadi." 

When  they  reached  the  tribunal,  they  found  that  they  must 
wait,  as  two  trials  were  ahead  of  theirs.  The  first  of  these 
trials  was  between  a  learned  man  and  a  peasant.  The  disputed 
point  was  one  in  reference  to  the  philosopher's  wife,  who  the 
peasant  asserted  was  his  own.  The  woman  remained  perfectly 
silent,  not  declaring  the  slightest  word  in  favor  of  either.  The 
judge  heard  both  sides  attentively,  reflected  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  "  Leave  the  woman  here,  and  return  to-morrow." 


151 

The  learned  man  and  the  laborer  each  bowed  and  retired, 
and  the  next  case  was  called.     This  was  a  difference  between 


BEFORE   THE   CADI 


a  butcher  and  an  oil  seller.     The  latter  appeared  covered  with 
oil.    The  butcher  spoke  first: — 

"  I  went  to  buy  some  oil  from  this  man,  and  in  order  to 
pay  him  for  it,  I  drew  a  handful  of  money  from  my  purse. 
The  sight  of  the  money  tempted  him.     He  seized  me  by  the 


152 

wrist.  I  cried  out,  but  lie  would  not  let  me  go.  Here  we  are, 
having  come  before  your  worship,  I  holding  my  money  in  my 
hand,  and  he  still  grasping  my  wrist.  Now  I  assert  that  this 
money  is  truly  my  own." 

Then  the  oil  merchant  spoke: — 

"  This  man  came  to  purchase  oil  from  me.  When  his  bottle 
was  filled,  he  said,  c  Have  you  change  for  a  piece  of  gold? '  I 
searched  my  pocket  and  drew  out  a  handful  of  money,  which 
I  laid  on  a  bench  in  my  shop.  He  seized  it,  and  was  walking 
off  with  my  money  and  my  oil,  when  I  caught  him  by  the  wrist 
and  cried  out,  i  Robber !  '  In  spite  of  my  cries,  however,  he 
would  not  surrender  the  money.  So  I  brought  him  here  that 
your  worship  might  decide  the  case.  Now  I  assert  that  this 
money  is  truly  my  own." 

The  cadi  caused  each  plaintiff  to  repeat  his  story,  but  neither 
varied  one  jot  from  his  original  statement.  He  reflected  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  "  Leave  the  money  with  me,  and  return 
to-morrow." 

The  butcher  placed  the  coins  on  the  edge  of  the  cadi's  man- 
tle, after  which  he  and  his  opponent  bowed  to  the  tribunal  and 
departed. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  Bou-Akas  and  the  cripple. 

"  My  lord  cadi,"  said  the  former,  "  I  came  hither  from  a 
distant  country  with  the  intention  of  visiting  this  city.  At  the 
city  gate  I  met  this  cripple,  who  first  asked  for  alms,  and  then 
prayed  me  to  allow  him  to  ride  behind  me  through  the  streets, 
lest  he  should  be  trodden  down  in  the  crowd.  I  consented; 
but  when  we  reached  the  market-place  he  refused  to  get  down, 
asserting  that  my  horse  belonged  to  him,  and  that  your  worship 
would  surely  adjudge  it  to  him  who  needed  it  most.  That, 
my  lord  cadi,  is  precisely  the  state  of  the  case." 


153 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  cripple,  "  as  I  was  coming  on  business 
to  the  market,  and  riding  this  horse,  which 'belongs  to  me,  I 
saw  this  man  seated  by  the  road-side,  apparently  half  dead 
with  fatigue.  I  good-naturedly  offered  to  take  him  on  the 
crupper,  and  let  him  ride  as  far  as  the  market-place,  for  which 
he  eagerly  thanked  me.  But  what  was  my  astonishment  when, 
on  our  arrival,  he  refused  to  get  down,  and  said  that  my  horse 
was  his!  I  immediately  required  him  to  appear  before  your 
worship,  in  order  that  you  might  decide  between  us.  That  is 
the  true  state  of  the  case." 

Having  made  each  repeat  his  deposition,  and  having  reflected 
for  a  moment,  the  cadi  said,  "  Leave  the  horse  here,  and  return 
to-morrow." 

It  was  done,  and  the  cripple  and  Bou-Akas  withdrew  in  dif- 
ferent directions. 


sheik,  the  chief  of  an  Arab  tribe. 
doc'ile,  easily  taught. 
in-farii-ble,  not  capable  of  failing. 
tri-bu'nal,  a  court. 
as-sert'ed,  declared  strongly. 


crup'per,  the  parts  of  a  horse  back 

of  the  saddle. 
dep"o-si'tion,  a  sworn  statement. 
peas'ant,  a  countryman. 
phi-los'o-pher,  a  wise  man. 


THE    CADI'S    DECISIONS 

II 

On  the  morrow  a  number  of  persons  besides  those  imme- 
diately interested  in  the  trials  assembled  to  hear  the  judge's 
decisions.     The  learned  man  and  the  peasant  were  called  first. 

"  Take  away  thy  wife,"  said  the  cadi  to  the  former,  "  and 
keep  her." 


154 

Then  turning  toward  an  officer,  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
peasant,    "  Give    this    man    fifty   blows."     He    was    instantly 
obeyed,  and  the  philosopher  took  away  his  wife. 

Then  came  forward  the  oil  merchant  and  the  butcher. 

"  Here,"  said  the  cadi  to  the  butcher,  "  is  thy  money.  It 
is  truly  thine,  and  not  his."  Then  turning  to  the  oil  merchant, 
he  said  to  his  officer,  "  Give  this  man  fifty  blows."  It  was 
done,  and  the  butcher  went  away  in  triumph  with  his  money. 

The  third  cause  was  called,  and  Bou-Akas  and  the  cripple 
came  forward. 

"  Wouldst  thou  recognize  thy  horse  among  twenty  others  ?  " 
asked  the  judge  of  Bou-Akas. 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  And  thou? " 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  replied  the  cripple. 

"  Follow  me/'  said  the  cadi  to  Bou-Akas. 

They  entered  a  large  stable,  and  Bou-Akas  pointed  out  his 
horse  amongst  the  twenty  which  were  standing  side  by  side. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  the  judge.  "  Return  now  to  the  tribunal, 
and  send  me  thine  adversary  hither." 

The  disguised  sheik  obeyed,  delivered  the  message,  and  the 
cripple  hastened  to  the  stable  as  quickly  as  his  distorted  limbs 
allowed.  He  possessed  quick  perception,  and  having  observed 
accurately,  was  able,  without  the  slightest  hesitation,  to  place 
his  hand  on  the  right  animal. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  the  cadi ;  "  return  to  the  tribunal." 

His  worship  resumed  his  place,  and  when  the  cripple  arrived, 
justice  was  pronounced. 

"  The  horse  is  thine,"  said  the  cadi  to  Bou-Akas ;  "  go  to  the 
stable  and  take  him."  Then  to  the  officer,  "  Give  this  cripple 
fifty  blows." 


155 

When  the  cadi  had  finished  the  business  of  the  day,  and 
was  retiring  to  his  house,  he  found  Bou-Akas  waiting  for 
him. 

"  Art  thou  discontented  with  my  award?  "  asked  the  judge. 

"  No,  quite  the  contrary,"  replied  the  sheik,  "  but  I  want  to 
know  by  what  inspiration  thou  hast  rendered  justice;  for  I 
doubt  not  the  other  two  cases  were  rendered  as  equitably  as 
mine.  I  am  Bou-Akas,  Sheik  of  Algeria,  and  I  wanted  to  judge 
for  myself  of  thy  reputed  wisdom." 

The  cadi  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  kissed  his  master's  hand. 

"  I  am  anxious,"  said  Bou-Akas,  "  to  learn  the  reasons  that 
determined  thy  three  decisions." 

"  Nothing,  my  lord,  could  be  more  simple.  Your  highness 
saw  that  I  detained  for  a  night  the  three  things  in  dispute  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  Well,  early  in  the  morning  I  caused  the  woman  to  be 
called,  and  I  said  to  her  suddenly,  l  Put  fresh  ink  in  my  ink- 
stand.' Like  a  person  that  had  done  the  same  thing  a  hundred 
times  before,  she  took  the  bottle,  removed  the  cotton,  washed 
them  both,  put  the  cotton  in  again,  and  poured  in  fresh  ink, 
doing  it  all  with  the  utmost  neatness  and  dispatch.  So  I  said 
to  myself,  '  A  peasant's  wife  would  know  nothing  about  ink- 
stands.    She  must  belong  to  the  philosopher.'  " 

"Good!"  said  Bou-Akas,  nodding  his  head,  "and  the 
money? " 

"  Did  your  highness  remark  that  the  merchant  had  his 
clothes  and  hands  covered  with  oil? " 

"  Certainly,  I  did." 

"  I  took  the  money  and  placed  it  in  a  vessel  filled  with  water. 
This  morning  I  looked  at  it,  and  not  a  particle  of  oil  was  to  be 
seen  on  the  surface  of  the  water.     So  I  said  to  myself,  '  If  this 


156 

money  belonged  to  the  oil  merchant,  it  would  be  greasy  from 
the  touch  of  his  hands;  as  it  is  not  so,  the  butcher's  story  must 
be  correct.'  " 

Bou-Akas  again  nodded  approval.     "  Good!  "  said  he,  "  and 
my  horse  ? " 

"Ah!  that  was  a  different  business;  and  until  this  morning 
I  was  greatly  puzzled." 

"  The  cripple,  I  suppose,  did  not  recognize  the  animal? " 
"  On  the  contrary,  he  pointed  him  out  immediately." 
"  How,  then,  did  you  discover  that  he  was  not  the  owner? " 
"  My  object  in  bringing  you  separately  to  the  stable  was, 
not  to  see  whether  you  would  know  the  horse,  but  whether  the 
horse  would  acknowledge  you.     Now,  when  you  approached 
him,  the  creature  turned  toward  you,  laid  back  his  ears,  and 
.neighed  with  delight;  but  when  the  cripple  touched  him  he 
kicked.    Then  I  knew  that  you  truly  were  his  master." 
Bou-Akas  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said: 
"  Allah  has  given  thee  great  wisdom.     Thou  shouldst  be  in 
my  place,  and  I  in  thine.     But  I  fear  that  I  could  not  fill  thy 
place  as  cadi." 

ARABIAN  TALE. 


dis-guised',  dressed  to  avoid  being 

known. 
dis-tort'ed,  out  of  proper  shape. 
per-cep'tion,  the  act  of  the  mind  in 

getting  ideas. 


in-spi-ra'tion,  knowledge  from  a 
higher  power. 

eq'ui-ta-bly,  justly. 

par'ti-cle,  a  small  part. 

ac-knowl'edge,  to  own  or  to  rec- 
ognize. 


Write  a  story  giving  the  case  of  the  sheik  and  the  cripple. 

1.  Their  meeting  and  the  dispute. 

2.  The  hearing  before  the  cadi. 

3.  The  cadi's  plan  and  the  result. 


157 


LONGFELLOW 

When  my  acquaintance  with  Longfellow  began,  he  had  writ- 
ten the  things  that  made  his  fame,  and  that  it  will  probably 
rest  upon :  "  Evangeline,"  "  Hiawatha,"  and  "  Courtship  of 
Miles  Standish  "  were  by  that  time  old  stories.  But  during  the 
eighteen  years  that  I  knew  him  he  produced  the  best  of  his 
minor  poems,  the  greatest  of.  his  sonnets,  the  sweetest  of  hi3 
lyrics. 

He  rarely  read  anything  of  his  own  aloud,  but  in  three  or 
four  cases  he  read  to  me  poems  that  he  had  just  finished,  as  if 
to  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  hearing  them  with  the  sympa- 
thetic sense^  of  another.  "  Elizabeth,"  in  the  third  part  of 
"  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  was  one  of  these,  and  he  liked 
my  liking  its  form,  which  I  believed  one  of  the  best  adapted  to 
the  English  subject,  and  which  he  had  used  himself  with  so 
much  pleasure  and  success. 

Longfellow  so  rarely  spoke  of  himself  in  any  way,  that  one 
heard  from  him  few  of  those  experiences  of  the  distinguished 
man  in  contact  with  the  undistinguished,  which  he  must  have 
had  so  abundantly.  But  he  told,  while  it  was  fresh  in  his  mind, 
an  incident  that  happened  to  him  one  day  in  Boston  at  a 
tobacconist's,  where  a  certain  brand  of  cigars  was  recommended 
to  him  as  the  kind  that  Longfellow  smoked. 

"  Ah,  then  I  must  have  some  of  them ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to 
send  me  a  box,"  said  Longfellow,  and  he  wrote  down  his  name 
and  address.  The  cigar-dealer  read  it  with  the  smile  of  a 
worsted  champion,  and  said,  "  Well  I  guess  you  had  me,  that 
time."  At  a  funeral,  a  mourner  wished  to  open  conversation, 
and  by  way  of  suggesting  a  theme  of  common  interest,  began, 
"  You've  buried,  I  believe  ?  " 


158 

Sometimes  people  were  shown  by  the  poet  through  Craigie 
House,  who  had  no  knowledge  of  it  except  that  it  had  been 
Washington's  Headquarters.  Of  course  Longfellow  was  known 
by  sight  to  every  one  in  Cambridge.  He  was  daily  in  the 
streets,  while  his  health  endured,  and  as  he  kept  no  carriage, 
he  was  often  to  be  met  in  the  horse-cars,  which  were  such  com- 
mon ground  in  Cambridge  that  they  were  often  like  small  in- 
vited parties  of  friends  when  they  left  Harvard  Square. 


CRAIGIE   HOUSE,  LONGFELLOW 's   HOME 

I  fancy  that  he  was  somewhat  shy  of  his  fellow-men,  as  the 
scholar  seems  to  be,  from  the  retired  habit  of  his  life;  but  I 
think  Longfellow  was  incapable  of  marking  any  difference  be- 
tween himself  and  them.  I  never  heard  from  him  anything 
that  was  patronizing,  when  he  spoke  of  people,  and  in  Cam- 
bridge, where  there  was  a  great  deal  of  contempt  for  the  less 
lettered,  and  we  liked  to  smile  though  we  did  not  like  to 
sneer,  Longfellow  and  Longfellow's  house  were  free  from  all 


159 

that.  Whatever  his  feelings  may  have  been  toward  other 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  his  manner  was  one  of  entire 
democracy. 

Once  your  friend,  Longfellow  was  always  your  friend;  he 
would  not  think  evil  of  you,  and  if  he  knew  evil  of  you,  he 
would  be  the  last  of  all  that  knew  it  to  judge  you  for  it.  This 
may  have  been  from  the  habit  of  his  mind,  but  I  believe  it  was 
also  the  effect  of  principle,  for  he  would  do  what  he  could  to 
defend  others  from  judgment,  and  would  soften  the  sentence 
passed  in  his  presence. 

As  for  his  goodness,  I  never  saw  a  fault  in  him.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  he  had  no  faults,  or  that  there  were  no  better 
men,  but  only  to  give  my  knowledge  concerning  him.  But 
as  a  man  shows  himself  to  those  often  with  him,-  and  in  his 
known  relations  with  other  men,  he  showed  himself  without 
blame. 

In  the  years  when  I  began  to  know  him,  his  long  hair  and 
the  beautiful  beard  mixed  with  it  were  of  iron-gray,  which 
I  saw  blanch  to  a  perfect  silver.  When  he  walked,  he  had  a 
kind  of  spring  in  his  gait,  as  if  now  and  again  a  buoyant 
thought  lifted  him  from  the  ground. 

It  was  fine  to  meet  him  coming  down  a  Cambridge  street; 
you  felt  that  the  encounter  made  you  a  part  of  literary  his- 
tory, and  set  you  apart  with  him  for  the  moment  from  the 
poor  and  mean.  You  could  meet  him  sometimes  at  the  mar- 
ket, if  you  were  of  the  same  provision-man  as  he;  Longfel- 
low remained  as  constant  to  his  tradespeople  as  to  any  other 
friends. 

He  rather  liked  to  bring  his  proofs  back  to  the  printer  him- 
self, and  we  often  found  ourselves  together  at  the  University 
Press,  where  the  Atlantic  Monthly  used  to  be  printed.     But 


160 


outside  of  his  own  house,  Longfellow  seemed  to  want  a  fit  at- 
mosphere, and  I  love  best  to  think  of  him  in  his  study,  where 
he  wrought  out  his  lovely  art  with  a  serenity  expressed  in  his 
smooth,  regular,  and  perfect  handwriting. 

His  writing  was  quite  vertical,  and  rounded  with  a  slope 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  At  the  time  I  knew  him  first,  he 
was  fond  of  using  a  soft  pencil  on  printing  paper,  though  com- 
monly he  wrote  with  a  quill.  Each  letter  was  distinct  in  shape, 
and  between  the  verses  was  always  the  exact  space  of  half  an 
inch.  I  have  a  good  many  of  his  poems  written  in  this  fashion, 
^  but   whether   they  were   the 

$Aca/w>  ^•«^*'SftU<9^     first  drafts  or  not  I  cannot 

say.  Toward  the  last  he  no 
longer  sent  his  poems  to  the  magazines  in  his  own  hand,  but 
they  were  always  signed  in  autograph. 

WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS  {Abridged). 


son'nets,  poems  of  fourteen  lines 
each. 

lyr'ics,  poems  that  have  a  song- 
like quality. 

hex-am'e-ter,  a  verse  of  six  feet. 


buoy'ant,  cheerful. 

se-ren'i-ty,  clearness  and  calm- 
ness. 

au'to-graph,  a  person's  own  signa- 
ture or  hand-writing. 


THE  VILLAGE    BLACKSMITH 


Under  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 
The  village  smithy  stands; 

The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large  and  sinewy  hands; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 


161 

His  hair  is  crisp  and  black  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  naming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing-floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 
Singing  in  Paradise ! 


162 

He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling, — re  j  oicing, — sorrowing, 

Onward  through  life  he  goes; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
Eor  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  naming  forge  of  life 

Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought ! 

HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


sin'ew-y,  hard  and  muscular. 
brawn'y,  large  and  strong. 
sledge,  a  large  hammer. 
sex'ton,  one  who  takes  care  of 
church. 


bel'lows,  a  machine  for  blowing  a 
fire. 

forge,  a  place  where  a  black- 
smith's fire  is  built. 

Par'a-dise,  heaven. 


Write  about  some  kind  of  work  thai  you  have  watched,  done  by  a 

Blacksmith  Shoemaker 

Carpenter  Saddler 

Mason  Glass-worker 

Farmer  Machinist 

Miller  Tinner. 


163 


RESCUE   OF   THE   CREW   OF   THE   "MERRIMAC" 

A  great  rush  of  water  came  up  the  gangway,  settling  and 
gurgling  out  of  the  deck.  The  mass  was  whirling  from  right 
to  left  "  against  the  sun;  "  it  seized  us  and  threw  us  against 
the  bulwarks,  then  over  the  rail.     Two  were  swept  forward  as 


THE    "MERRIMAC       UNDER   FIRE 


if  by  a  momentary  recession,  and  one  was  carried  down  into 
a  coal-bunker.  In  a  moment,  however,  with  increased  force, 
the  water  shot  him  up  out  of  the  same  hole  and  swept  him 
among  us. 

The  bulwarks  disappeared.  We  charged  about  with  casks, 
cans,  and  spars.  The  life-preservers  stood  us  in  good  stead, 
preventing  chests  from  being  crushed,  as  well  as  buoying  us 
up  on  the  surface.    When  we  looked  for  the  life-boat  we  found 


164 

that  it  had  been  carried  away.  The  catamaran  was  the  largest 
piece  of  floating  debris ;  we  assembled  about  it. 

The  firing  had  ceased.  It  was  evident  that  the  enemy  had 
not  seen  us  in  the  general  mass  of  moving  objects;  but  soon 
the  tide  began  to  drift  these  away,  and  we  were  being  left 
alone  with  the  catamaran.  The  men  were  directed  to  cling 
close  in,  bodies  below  and  only  heads  out,  close  under  the  edges. 

We  mustered;  all  were  present,  and  direction  was  given  to 
remain  as  we  were  till  further  orders,  for  I  was  sure  that  in 
due  time  after  daylight  a  responsible  officer  would  come  out 
to  reconnoiter.  It  was  evident  that  we  could  not  swim  against 
the  tide  to  reach  the  entrance.  Moreover,  the  shores  were 
lined  with  troops,  and'the  small  boats  were  looking  for  victims 
that  might  escape  from  the  vessel. 

The  only  chance  lay  in  remaining  undiscovered  until  the 
coming  of  the  reconnoitering  boat,  to  which,  perhaps,  we  might 
surrender  without  being  fired  on.  The  moon  was  now  low. 
The  sunken  Merrimac  was  bubbling  up  her  last  lingering 
breath.  The  boat's  crew  looking  for  refugees  pulled  closer, 
peering  with  lanterns.  Again  the  discipline  of  the  men  was 
put  to  severe  test,  for  time  and  again  it  seemed  that  the  boats 
would  come  up,  and  the  impulse  to  swim  away  was  strong. 

The  air  was  chilly  and  the  water  positively  cold.  In  less 
than  five  minutes  our  teeth  were  chattering;  so  loud,  indeed, 
did  they  chatter,  that  it  seemed  the  destroyer  or  the  boats  would 
hear.  In  spite  of  their  efforts,  two  of  the  men  soon  began  to 
cough,  and  it  seemed  that  we  should  surely  be  discovered.  I 
worked  my  legs  and  body  under  the  raft  for  exercise,  but  in 
spite  of  all,  the  shivers  would  come  and  the  teeth  would  chatter. 

We  remained  there  probably  an  hour.  Frogs  croaked  up 
the  bight,  and  as  dawn  broke,  the  birds  began  to  twitter  and 


165 

chirp  in  the  bushes  and  trees  near  at  hand  along  the  wooded 
slopes.  Day  came  bright  and  beautiful.  It  seemed  that  nature 
disregarded  man  and  went  on  the  same,  serene,  peaceful,  and 
unmoved.  Man's  strife  appeared  a  discord,  and  his  tragedy 
received  no  sympathy. 

About  daybreak  a  beautiful  strain  went  up  from  a  bugle  at 
Punta  Gorda  battery.  It  was  pitched  at  a  high  key,  and  rose 
and  lingered,  long  drawn  out,  gentle  and  tremulous;  it  seemed 
as  though  an  angel  might  be  playing  while  looking  down  in 
tender  pity.     Could  this  be  a  Spanish  bugle? 

Broad  daylight  came.  The  destroyer  got  up  anchor,  and 
drew  back  again  up  the  bight.  We  were  still  undiscovered. 
Then  some  one  announced :  "  A  steam-launch  is  heading  for 
us,  sir."  I  looked  around,  and  found  that  a  launch  of  large 
size,  with  the  curtains  aft  drawn  down,  was  coming  from  the 
bight  around  Smith  Cay  and  heading  straight  for  us.  That 
must  be  the  reconnoitering  party. 

It  swerved  a  little  to  the  left  as  if  to  pass  around  us,  giving 
no  signs  of  having  seen  us.  No  one  was  visible  on  board, 
everybody  apparently  being  below  the  rail.  When  it  was  about 
thirty  yards  off  I  hailed.  The  launch  stopped  as  if  frightened, 
and  backed  furiously.  A  squad  of  riflemen  filed  out,  and 
formed  in  a  semicircle  on  the  forecastle,  and  came  to  "  load," 
"  ready,"  "  aim." 

A  murmur  passed  about  among  my  men :  "  They  are  going 
to  shoot  us."  A  bitter  thought  flashed  through  my  mind: 
"  The  miserable  cowards!  A  brave  nation  will  learn  of  this 
and  call  for  an  account."  But  the  volley  did  not  follow.  The 
aim  must  have  been  merely  for  caution,  and  it  was  apparent 
that  there  must  be  an  officer  on  board  in  control. 

I  called  out  in  a  strong  voice  to  know  if  there  was  not  an 


166 

officer  in  the  boat;  if  so,  an  American  officer  wished  to  speak 
with  him  with  a  view  to  surrendering  himself  and  seamen  as 
prisoners  of  war.  The  curtain  was  raised;  an  officer  leaned 
out  and  waved  his  hand,  and  the  rifles  came  down. 

I  struck  out  for  the  launch,  and  climbed  on  board  aft  with 
the  assistance  of  the  officer,  who,  hours  afterward,  we  learned 
was  Admiral  Cervera  himself.  With  him  were  two  other 
officers,  his  juniors.  To  him  I  surrendered  myself  and  the 
men,  taking  off  my  revolver-belt,  glasses,  canteen,  and  life- 
preserver. 

The  officers  looked  astonished  at  first,  perhaps  at  the  singu- 
lar uniforms  and  the  begrimed  condition  of  us  all,  due  to  the 
fine  coal  and  oil  that  came  to  the  surface.  Then  a  current  of 
kindness  seemed  to  pass  over  them,  and  they  exclaimed: 
"  Yaliente !  "  The  launch  then  steamed  up  to  the  catamaran, 
and  the  men  climbed  on  board,  the  two  that  had  been  coughing 
being  in  the  last  stages  of  exhaustion  and  requiring  to  be  lifted. 
We  were  prisoners  in  Spanish  hands. 

RICHMOND  PEARSON  HOBSON. 


buTwarks,  the  sides  of  a  ship  above 
the  upper  deck. 

cat"a-ma-ran',  a  raft  or  float  made 
of  two  or  more  pieces. 

rec"on-noi'ter,  to  make  observa- 
tions as  before  an  army. 

ex-haus'tion,  extreme  weariness. 

Mer'ri-mac,  the  name  of  a  ship: 

be-grimed',  black  and  dirty. 


trag'e-dy,  a  fatal  event. 
debris',  rubbish  from  ruins. 
ap-par'ent-ly,  seeming  to  be. 
fore'cas"tle,    the    upper,     forward 

deck  of  a  war  ship. 
can-teen',  a  water  bottle  used  by 

soldiers. 
variente,  bravely  done. 
dis'ci-pline,  special  training. 


RICHMOND  PEARSON  HOBSON  was  born  in  Alabama,  and  became 
famous  during  our  war  with  Spain  in  1898.  He  sank  the  collier  Merrimac 
in  Santiago  Harbor  so  as  to  block  the  channel  and  pen  the  Spanish  ships 


167 

inside  the  Harbor.  He  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Spaniards  and  kept  in  a 
Cuban  fortress  for  about  six  weeks,  but  was  released  after  the  Americans 
had  defeated  the  Spanish.  He  has  written  the  full  story  of  the  sinking 
of  the  collier,  and  it  is  from  this  book  that  "The  Rescue  of  the  Crew  of 
the  Merrimac  "  is  taken.  He  has  also  written  several  books  on  subjects 
connected  with  his  profession.  The  sketch  here  given  is  printed  by 
courtesy  of  the  Century  Company. 


"MUS'   RATTIN' " 

One  November  afternoon  I  found  Uncle  Jethro  back  of  the 
woodshed,  drawing  a  chalk-mark  along  the  barrel  of  his  old 
musket,  from  the  hammer  to  the  sight. 

"  What  are  yon  doing  that  for,  Uncle  Jeth  ? "  I  asked. 

"  What  fo'  ?     Fo'  mus'rats,  boy." 

"  Muskrats !  Do  yon  think  that  they'll  walk  up  and  toe  that 
mark,  while  you  knock  them  over  with  a  stick  1 " 

"  G'way  f um  yhere !  What  I  take  yo'  possumin'  des  dozen 
winters  fo'  en  yo'  dunno  how  to  sight  a  gun  in  de  moon  yit? 
I's  gwine  mus'rattin'  by  de  moon  to-night,  en  I  won't  take  yo' 
nohow." 

Of  course  he  took  me.  We  went  out  about  nine  o'clock. 
Entering  the  zigzag  lane  behind  the  barn,  we  followed  the  cow- 
paths  down  to  the  pasture,  then  cut  across  Lupton's  Pond,  the 
little  wood-walled  lake  that  falls  over  a  dam  into  the  wide 
meadows  along  Cohansey  Creek. 

The  big  moon  was  riding  over  the  meadows  as  we  tucked 
ourselves  snugly  out  of  sight  in  a  clump  of  small  cedars  on  the 
bank.  The  domed  houses  of  the  muskrats — the  village  num- 
bered six  houses — showed  plainly  as  the  moon  came  up.  When 
the  full  flood  of  light  fell  on  the  still  surface  of  the  pond,  we 


168 

could  see  the  "  roads  "  of  the  muskrats  leading  down  through 
the  pads  to  the  open  space  about  the  dam. 

These  houses  are  so  placed  along  a  water-hole  that  the  dweller 
can  dive  out  and  escape  under  water  when  danger  approaches. 


THE  MUSKRATS    AT   HOME 


The  muskrat  first  chooses  for  his  bedstead  a  large  tussock  of 
sedge  that  stands  wTell  out  of  the  water.  Now,  from  a  founda- 
tion below  the  water,  thick  walls  of  mud  and  grass  are  erected 
inclosing  the  tussock;  a  thick  thatch  is  piled  on;  the  channels 
leading  away  from  the  doors  are  dug  out;  a  bunch  of  soaking 
grass  is  brought  in  and  made  into  a  bed  on  the  tussock,  and  the 
muskrat  takes  possession. 

Here,  in  the  single  room  of  their  houses,  one  after  another 
will  come,  until  the  walls  can  hold  no  more;  and  curling  up 


169 

after  their  night  of  foraging,  they  will  spend  the  frigid  days 
blissfully  rolled  up  into  one  warm  ball  of  dreamful  sleep. 

Unless  roused  by  the  sharp  thrust  of  a  spear,  the  muskrat 
will  sleep  until  nightfall.  You  may  skate  around  the  lodge, 
and  even  sit  down  upon  it,  without  waking  the  sleepers;  but 
plunge  a  stick  through  the  top,  and  you  will  hear  a  smothered 
plunk,  plunk,  plunk,  as  one  after  another  dives  out  of  bed  into 
the  water  below. 

While  Uncle  Jethro  and  I  waited  that  night,  there  was  a 
faint  plash  among  the  muskrat  houses.  The  village  was  waking 
up,  and  soon  we  saw  swimming  silently  and  evenly  towards  us, 
the  round,  black  head  of  a  muskrat. 

A  plank  had  drifted  against  the  bank,  and  upon  this  the  little 
creature  scrambled  out,  as  dry  as  the  cat  at  home  under  the 
roaring  kitchen  stove.  Down  another  road  came  a  second  musk- 
rat,  and  joined  the  first  comer  on  the  plank.  They  rubbed 
noses  softly,  and  a  moment  afterward  began  to  play  together. 

They  were  out  for  a  frolic,  and  the  night  was  splendid. 
Keeping  one  eye  open  for  owls,  they  swam  and  dived  and 
chased  each  other  through  the  water,  with  all  the  fun  of  boys 
in  swimming. 

On  the  bottom  of  this  pond  were  mussels,  which  the  musk- 
rats  reckon  sweetmeats.  They  are  hard  to  get,  hard  to  crack, 
but  worth  all  the  cost.  I  was  not  surprised,  then,  when  one 
of  the  muskrats  sleekly  disappeared  beneath  the  surface,  and 
came  up  directly  with  a  mussel. 

There  was  a  squabble  on  the  plank,  which  ended  in  the  other 
muskrat' s  diving  for  a  mussel  for  himself.  Having  finished 
this  course  of  big-neck  clams,  they  were  joined  by  a  third  musk- 
rat.  Together  then  they  filed  over  the  bank  and  down  into  the 
meadow.     Shortly  two  of  them  returned  with  calamus-blades. 


170 

The  washing  followed.  They  dropped  their  loads  upon  the 
plank,  took  up  the  stalks,  pulled  the  blades  apart,  and  soused 
them  up  and  down  in  the  water,  rubbing  them  with  their  paws 
until  they  were  as  clean  and  white  as  the  whitest  celery  one  ever 
ate.  What  a  dainty  picture  !  Two  little  brown  creatures,  humped 
on  the  edge  of  a  plank,  washing  calamus  in  moonlit  water ! 

One  might  have  taken  them  for  half-grown  coons  as  they  sat 
there  scrubbing  and  munching.  Had  the  big  owl  from  the  gum- 
swamp  come  along  then,  he  could  easily  have  bobbed  down  upon 
them,  and  might  almost  have  carried  one  away  without  the 
others  knowing  it. 

Muskrats,  like  coons,  will  wash  what  they  eat,  whether  wash- 
ing is  needed  or  not.  It  is  safe  to  say,  I  think,  that  had  these 
found  clean  bread  and  butter  upon  the  plank  instead  of  muddy 
calamus,  they  would  have  scoured  it  just  the  same. 

Before  the  two  on  the  plank  had  finished  their  meal,  the 
third  muskrat  returned,  dragging  his  load  of  mud  and  roots  to 
the  scrubbing.  He  was  just  dipping  into  the  water  when  there 
was  a  terrible  explosion  in  my  ears.  As  the  smoke  lifted  there 
were  no  washers  upon  the  plank ;  but  over  in  the  quiet  water 
floated  three  long,  slender  tails. 

"  No  man  gwine  stan'  dat  shot,  boy,  jis  t?  see  a  mus'rat  wash 
his  supper,"  and  Uncle  Jethro  limbered  his  stiffened  knees  and 
went  chuckling  down  the  bank. 

DALLAS  LORE  SHARP  (Abridged). 


musk'rat,    a    fur-bearing    animal 

living  near  water. 
tussock,  a  tuft  of  grass. 
sedge,  a  coarse  kind  of  grass. 
thatch,  a  roof  made  of  straw,  grass, 

or  leaves. 


squab'ble,  a  disorderly  contest. 
cara-mus,  the  sweet  flag  (a  plant). 
soused,  splashed  into  water, 
munch' ing,  chewing  with  a  grind- 
ing sound. 
for'ag-ing,  search  for  food. 


1Y1 

DALLAS  L.  SHARP  is  a  clergyman  who  was  born  in  New  Jersey  in 
1870.  He  has  been  on  the  editorial  staff  of  the  Youth's  Companion  since 
1901.  He  has  given  much  attention  to  nature  study  and  has  written  many 
articles  about  animals  and  birds.  "  Wild  Life  Near  Home  "  is  the  title  of 
a  book  of  his  that  nature  lovers  enjoy.  This  selection  is  here  given  by 
permission  of  the  Century  Company. 


JACK    IN    THE    PULPIT 

Jack  in  the  pulpit 

Preaches  to-day, 
Under  the  green  trees 

Just  over  the  way. 
Squirrel  and  song-sparrow, 

High  on  their  perch, 
Hear  the  sweet  lily-bells 

Ringing  to  church. 
Come  hear  what  his  reverence 

Rises  to  say 
In  his  low,  painted  pulpit 

This  calm  Sabbath  day. 

Meek-faced  anemones, 

Drooping  and  sad ; 
Great  yellow  violets, 

Smiling  out  glad; 
Buttercups'  faces, 

Beaming  and  bright; 
Clovers  with  bonnets, 

Some  red  and  some  white; 


172 

Daisies,  their  white  fingers 

Half-clasped  in  prayer; 
Dandelions,  proud  of 

The  gold  of  their  hair; 
Innocents,  children 

Guileless  and  frail. 
Meek  little  faces 

Upturned  and  pale; 
Wildwood  geraniums, 

All  in  their  best, 
Languidly  leaning, 

In  purple  gauze  dressed — 
All  are  assembled 

This  sweet  Sabbath  day 
To  hear  what  the  priest 

In  his  pulpit  will  say. 

So  much  for  the  preacher: 

The  sermon  comes  next, — 
Shall  we  tell  how  he  preached  it 

And  where  was  his  text  ? 
Alas  !  like  too  many 

Grown-up  folks  who  play 
At  worship  in  churches 

Man-builded  to-day, — 
We  heard  not  the  preacher 

Expound  or  discuss; 
But  we  looked  at  the  people, 

And  they  looked  at  us. 
We  saw  all  their  dresses — 

Their  colors  and  shapes; 


173 

The  trim  of  their  bonnets, 
The  cut  of  their  capes; 

We  heard  the  wind-organ, 
The  bee,  and  the  bird, 

But  of  Jack  in  the  pulpit 
We  heard  not  a  word ! 


CLARA  SMITH. 


rev'er-ence,  a  title  of  respect.  I  guileless,  innocent. 

a-nem'o-nes,  early  spring  flowers.      |   ex-pound',  to  explain. 

Copy:  1.  Squirrel  and  song-sparrow  hear  the  sweet  lily-bells. 

2.  Jack  rises  in  his  low,  painted  pulpit. 

3.  We  heard  the  wind-organ,  the  bee,  and  the  bird. 
What  word  is  omitted  before  painted?  Before  the  bee? 
What  mark  is  used  to  show  the  omission  ? 

When  more  than  two  words  are  used  in  the  same  way,  and  have  the 
same  value  in  a  sentence,  they  form  a  series;  as,  wind-organ,  bee,  and  bird. 

In  such  a  series  of  words,  when  all  the  conjunctions  are  omitted  except 
the  last,  a  comma  should  be  placed  after  each  word  in  the  series  except 
the  last. 
Copy:    4.  Anemones,  violets,  buttercups,  and  daisies  are  wild  flowers. 

5.  Blue,  yellow,  and  white  violets  grow  in  the  woods. 

6.  We  charged  about  with  casks,  cans,  and  spars. 

7.  The  kitten  starts,  crouches,  stretches,  paws,  and  darts. 

8.  The  officers,  cavaliers,  and  priests  carried  De  Soto  to  his  grave. 
If  all  the  conjunctions  are  omitted  in  the  series,  a  comma  should  be 

placed  after  the  series. 

Copy:   9.  Pepper's  roar  of  astonishment,  indignation,  pain,  still  rings  in 

my  ears. 

10.  "Evangeline,"  "Hiawatha,"  "The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish," 
were  old  stories. 

11.  The  sea-flag,  the  dulse,  the  fan  coral,  grow  in  the  deep  ocean. 

12.  Writers,  preachers,  lawyers,  doctors,  had  been  Bulldog's  pupils. 

13.  Ivanhoe,  Rebecca,  Rob  Roy,  are  characters  in  Scott's  novels. 
Find  or  make  ten  sentences  of  each  of  the  two  classes  given  above. 


174 


A    DEPARTURE    FROM    CAIRO 


"  The  camels  are  ready " 

"  Yes,  commander,  and  so  are  the  Howadji." 

The  sun  was  nearing  the  pyramids,  and  doubly  beautiful  in 
the  afternoon,  "  the  delight  of  the  imagination "  lay  silent 
before,  compelling  our  admiration.  I  lingered  and  lingered 
upon  the  little  balcony.  Ha-ha,  said  the  donkey-boys  beneath, 
and  I  leaned  over  and  saw  a  company  trotting  along. 

The  camels  lay  under  the  trees,  and  a  turbaned  group,  like 
the  wise  men  at  the  manger,  in  old  pictures,  awaited  our  depar- 
ture with  languid  curiosity.  The  Pasha  descended  the  stairs, 
and  I  followed  him,  just  as  the  commander  announced  for  the 
twelfth  time — 

"  The  camels  are  ready." 

The  camels  lay  patiently  under  the  trees  before  the  door, 
quietly  ruminating.  Our  caravan  consisted  of  seven,  four  of 
which  had  been  loaded  and  sent  forward  with  their  drivers, 
and  were  to  halt  at  a  village  beyond  the  city;  the  other 
three  awaited  the  pleasure  of  the  Howadji  and  the  com- 
mander. It  was  time  to  mount,  and  the  farewells  must  be 
spoken. 

Addio !  With  the  word  trembling  upon  my  tongue,  and  half 
looking  back  and  muttering  last  words,  I  laid  my  left  hand 
carelessly  upon  the  back  of  the  recumbent  camel  to  throw 
myself  leisurely  into  the  seat. 

I  had  seen  camels  constantly  for  two  months,  and  had  con- 
demned them  as  the  slowest  and  most  conceited  of  brutes.  I 
had  supposed  an  elephantine  languor  in  every  motion,  and  had 
anticipated  a  luxurious  cradling  over  the  desert  in  their  rocking 


175 

gait,  for  to  the  outward  eye  their  movement  is  imaged  by  the 
lazy  swell  of  summer  waves. 

The  saddle  is  a  wooden  frame,  with  a  small  upright  stake, 
both  in  front  and  behind.  Between  these  stakes,  and  upon  the 
frame,  are  laid  the  blankets,  carpets,  and  other  woolen  con- 


A    CARAVAN    NEAR   THE    PYRAMIDS 


veniences  for  riding. 
rug. 


Over  all  is  thrown  the  brilliant  Persian 


The  true  method  of  mounting  is  to  grasp  the  stakes  in  each 
hand,  and  to  swing  yourself  rapidly  and  suddenly  into  the  seat, 
while  the  camel  driver — if  you  are  luxurious  and  timid — holds 
his  foot  upon  the  bent  fore-knee  of  the  camel.  Once  in  the 
seat  you    must   cling    closely,    through   the   three   convulsive 


176 

spasms  of  rising  and  righting,  two  of  which  jerk  you  violently 
forward  and  one  backward. 

This  is  a  very  simple  mystery.  But  I  was  ignorant,  and 
did  not  observe  that  no  camel  driver  was  at  the  head  of  my 
beast.  In  fact,  I  observed  only  that  the  great  blue  cotton 
umbrella,  covered  with  white  cloth,  and  the  two  water  jugs 
dangling  from  the  rear  stake  of  my  saddle,  were  an  amusing 
combination  of  luxury  and  necessity. 

Ready  to  mount,  I  laid  my  hand  as  carelessly  and  leisurely 
upon  the  front  stake  as  if  my  camel  had  been  a  cow.  But 
scarcely  had  my  right  foot  left  the  earth  on  its  meditative  way 
to  the  other  side  of  the  saddle,  when  the  camel  snorted,  threw 
back  his  head,  and  sprang  up  nimbly  as  a  colt. 

I,  meanwhile,  was  left  dangling  with  the  blue  cotton  um- 
brella, and  the  water  jugs  at  the  side,  several  feet  from  the 
ground.  I  made  a  grasp  at  the  rear  stake,  but  I  clutched 
only  the  luxuries,  and  down  we  fell,  Howadji,  pocket-pistols, 
umbrella,  and  water  jugs  in  a  confused  heap.  The  good  .com- 
mander arrived  at  the  scene,  and  swore  fiercely  at  the  Arabs. 
Then  very  blandly,  he  instructed  me  in  the  mystery  of  camel- 
climbing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  on  the  way  to  Jeru- 
salem. 

With  the  first  swing  of  the  camel,  Egypt  and  the  Nile  began 
to  recede.  With  this  shuttle  the  desert  was  to  be  woven  into 
the  web  of  my  life.  We  passed  through  the  outskirts  of  the 
city.  The  streets  were  narrow  and  dirty  as  we  approached  the 
gate,  although  they  wound  under  beautiful  lattices,  and  palms 
drooped  over  the  roofs. 

Superior  to  the  scene,  we  rode  upon  our  lofty  camels.  They 
swayed  gently  along,  and  occasionally  swung  their  heads  and 
long  necks  awkwardly  aside  to  peer  through  the  lattices.     The 


177 

odd  silence  and  sadness,  whose  spell  I  had  constantly  felt  in 
Cairo,  brooded  over  "  the  snperb  town,  the  holy  city  "  to  the 
last.  As  we  passed  out  of  the  gate  into  the  desert,  no  hope 
called  after  us. 

As  we  advanced,  we  saw  more  plainly  the  blank  sand  that 
overspread  the  earth,  from  us  to  the  eastern  horizon.  Out  of 
its  illimitable  reaches  paced  strings  of  camels,  with  swarthy 
Arabs.  Single  horsemen,  and  parties  upon  donkeys  ambled 
quietly  by.  Our  path  lay  northward  along  the  line  where  the 
greenness  of  the  Nile-valley  blends  with  the  desert.  There  was 
a  little  scant  shrubbery  upon  the  sides  of  the  way — groves  of 
mimosa,  through  which  stretched  the  light  sand,  almost  like 
a  road. 

As  the  sun  set,  I  turned  upon  my  camel,  and  saw  Grand 
Cairo  for  the  last  time.  The  evening  darkened,  and  we  paced 
along  in  perfect  silence.  The  stars  shone  with  the  crisp  bril- 
liancy of  our  January  nights,  but  the  air  was  balmy,  veined 
occasionally  with  a  streak  of  strange  warmth,  which  I  knew 
was  the  breath  of  the  desert. 

The  Arabs  that  had  gone  forward  with  the  pack  camels 
were  to  encamp  just  beyond  a  little  town  which  we  entered 
after  dark.  It  was  a  collection  of  mud  hovels,  and  we  reflected 
with  satisfaction  upon  the  accommodation  of  our  new  tent,  and 
the  refreshing  repose  it  promised.  A  few  steps  beyond  the 
town  brought  us  to  the  white-domed  tomb  of  a  sheik,  just  on 
the  edge  of  the  desert,  and  there  the  camping-ground  was 
chosen. 

In  a  few  minutes  our  desert  palace  was  built.  The  riding 
camels  were  then  led  up,  and  made  to  kneel  while  the  carpets, 
blankets,  and  matting  were  removed  from  the  saddle.  We  laid 
the  matting  on  the  sand,  spread  over  it  a  coarse,  thick  carpet- 


178 

ing,  and  covered  the  whole  with  two  Persian  rugs,  one  upon 
each  side  of  the  pole.  The  traveling-bags  were  then  thrown  in, 
and  we  commenced  Arabian  housekeeping. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


pyr'a-mids,  great  stone  monuments 
near  Cairo. 

tur'baned,  wearing  turbans. 

lan'guid,  weak;  without  anima- 
tion. 

ru'mi-na"ting,  chewing  the  cud. 


con-vul'sive,  nervous;  without  con- 
trol of  the  muscles. 
med'i-ta-tive,  thoughtful. 
bland'ly,  in  a  soft  or  mild  manner. 
il-lim'i-ta-ble,  without  limit. 
mi-mo'sa,  a  sensitive  plant. 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  (1824-92)  was  born  in  Providence, 
Rhode  Island.  He  was  at  one  time  an  editorial  writer  on  the  staff  of 
the  New  York  Tribune  and  later  became  editor  of  Harper's  Magazine. 
His  writings  on  his  travels  in  foreign  lands  are  as  enjoyable  as  they  are 
instructive.  This  story  is  taken  from  his  book,  "  Howadji  in  Syria." 
He  wrote  also  "  Nile  Notes  of  a  Howadji."  (This  is  a  word  used  by  Ara- 
bians to  mean  a  European  tourist.)  His  book  "Prue  and  I"  is  well 
known  and  greatly  liked. 


Read  again  the  story,  "Dog-sleighing  in  Siberia."  Who  had  the  more 
difficult  task,  Mr.  Kennan  in  trying  to  drive  a  team  of  dogs,  or  Mr.  Curtis 
in  attempting  to  mount  a  camel? 

Write  a  description  of  one  of  the  following  animals:  Camel,  elephant, 
otter,  bear,  wolf,  whale,  shark,  seal,  salmon,  beaver,  alligator,  tiger. 

1.  Where  is  this  animal  found  ? 

2.  What  is  its  height,  length,  weight,  shape,  color  ? 

3.  What  are  its  habits?  What  kind  of  home  does  it  have?  What 
does  it  eat?     How  does  it  obtain  its  food?     What  animals  does  it  fear? 

4.  Of  what  use  is  this  animal?  Can  it  be  trained  to  work?  How  is  it 
captured? 

5.  Tell  a  short  story  about  the  animal  described. 

Write  a  description  of  a  familiar  animal,  as  a  horse,  cow,  sheep,  squir- 
rel, goat,  pig,  rabbit,  cat,  dog. 


179 


A   POET   AT    HOME 


One  day  Julia  had  an  adventure — not  "  a  wildly  exciting 
one,"  as  some  of  the  girls  liked  to  describe  what  had  happened 
to  them,  but  one  that  she  was  always  to  remember  with  pleas- 
ure. It  was  a  windy  day  in  early  January,  and  there  was  a 
fine  glaze  on  the  ground  from  a  storm  of  the  day  before.  As 
she  was  slipping  along  down  Beacon  street,  on  her  way  home 
from  school,  it  was  all  that  she  could  do  to  hold  her  footing. 

Luckily  she  had  no  books  to  carry,  and  so  when  suddenly 
she  saw  some  sheets  of  letter  paper  whirling  past  her,  she  was 
able  to  rush  on  and  pick  them  up  as  they  were  dashed  against  a 
lamp-post.  Then  she  naturally  looked  around  to  see  to  whom 
they  belonged.  The  owner  was  not  far  away,  for  just  a  few 
steps  behind  her  was  an  old  gentleman  not  very  tall,  dressed 
all  in  black  with  a  high  silk  hat. 

Under  his  arm  the  gentleman  carried  a  book,  and  as  he  held 
out  his  hand  toward  her,  Julia  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  the 
owner  of  the  wandering  manuscript.  "  Thank  you,  my  child," 
he  said,  as  she  held  the  sheets  towards  him.  "  Another  gust, 
and  I  should  have  had  to  compose  a  new  poem  to  take  the  place 
of  this  one." 

"  Why,  sir,"  Julia  began  to  say;  then  looking  up  in  his  face, 
she  suddenly  gave  a  start.  Surely  she  had  seen  that  face  be- 
fore. But  where?  In  an  instant  she  recognized  the  owner 
of  the  papers.  He  was  certainly  no  other  than  Dr.  Oliver  "Wen- 
dell Holmes,  the  famous  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,  sev- 
eral of  whose  poems  she  knew  almost  by  heart.  "  Were — were 
they  some  of  your  own  poems?  "  she  managed  to  stammer,  "  it 
would  have  been  dreadful  if  they  had  been  lost." 


180 


"  Not  half  so  dreadful,"  he  replied  smiling,  "  as  if  they  had 
been  written  by  some  one  else.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  were 
sent  to  me  by  an  unfledged  poet,  who  wished  me  to  tell  him 
whether  he  would  stand  a  chance  of  getting  them  into  a  pub- 
lisher's hands.  He  told  me  to  take  great  care  of  them  as  he 
had  no  copy.  I  read  his  note  at  my  publisher's  just  now,  and 
I  felt  bound  to  carry  the  manuscript  home.     But  I'm  not  sure 

that  it  would  not  have  been 
a  good  thing  to  lose  a  sheet 
or  two  to  teach  him  a  lesson. 
He  should  not  send  a  thing 
to  a  stranger  without  making 
a  copy." 

When  Julia  repeated  this 
later  at  the  table,  her  aunt 
was  much  interested.  "  What 
else  did  he  say  ? "  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Oh,  he  thanked  me  again 
for  picking  up  the  papers, 
and  when  he  heard  that  I 
had  not  been  long  in  Boston, 
he  asked  me  to  call  some  af- 
ternoon to  see  him.  I  walked  along  until  he  reached  his  door. 
Do  you  know  that  he  lives  near  here  ?  " 

Her  aunt  knew,  and  approved  of  her  making  the  call.  A 
few  afternoons  later  Julia  and  her  friend  Edith  walked  up  the 
short  flight  of  stone  steps  to  the  poet's  front  door.  Their  hearts 
sank  a  little.  To  make  a  call  on  a  poet  was  really  a  rather  for- 
midable thing,  and  they  pressed  each  other's  hands  as  they 
heard  the  maid  opening  the  door  to  admit  them. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 


181 

"  Just  wait  here  for  a  moment,"  said  the  maid,  after  they 
had  inquired  for  the  master  of  the  house.  In  a  moment  she 
returned  and  asked  them  to  follow  her.  At  the  head  of  the 
broad  stairs  they  saw  the  poet  himself  standing  with  outstretched 
hand  to  meet  them.  When  Julia  mentioned  Edith's  name, 
he  made  them  sit  down  beside  him,  one  on  each  side,  while  he 
occupied  a  large  leather  armchair  drawn  up  before  his  open 
fire,  and  asked  them  one  or  two  questions  about  their  studies 
and  their  taste  in  literature. 

As  Dr.  Holmes  talked,  Julia's  eyes  wandered  to  the  little 
revolving  bookcase  on  which  she  could  not  help  noticing  a 
number  of  volumes  of  his  own  works.  The  old  gentleman,  fol- 
lowing her  glance,  said:  "They  make  a  pretty  fair  showing 
for  one  man,  but  my  publishers  are  getting  ready  to  bring 
out  a  complete  edition  of  my  works,  and  that,  well  that  makes 
me  realize  my  age."  After  a  moment,  he  asked  quickly, 
"  Does  either  of  you  write  poetry?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  answered  Edith  quickly,  "  we  couldn't." 

"  Why,  it  isn't  so  very  hard,"  he  said,  "  at  least  I  should 
judge  not  by  the  numbers  of  copies  of  verses  that  are  sent  to 
me  to  examine.  Poetry  deals  with  common  human  emotion, 
and  almost  any  one  with  a  fair  vocabulary  thinks  that  he  can 
express  himself  in  verse.  Words  and  expression  seem  very 
felicitous  to  the  writer,  but  he  cannot  expect  other  persons  to 
see  his  work  as  he  sees  it." 

"  It  depends,  I  suppose,"  said  Edith  shyly,  "  on  whose  work 
it  is." 

"  Do  you  really  have  a  great  deal  of  poetry  sent  you  to 
read? "  Julia  asked. 

"  Every  mail,"  he  answered,  "  brings  me  letters  from  stran- 
gers,— from  every  corner  of  the  globe.     Some  are  accompanied 


182 

by  long  manuscripts  on  which  my  opinion  is  asked.  I  am  chary 
now  about  expressing  any  opinion,  for  some  publishers  have  a 
way  of  quoting  very  unfairly  in  their  advertisements.  If  I 
write,  '  your  book  would  be  very  charming,  were  it  not  so 
carelessly  written/  the  publisher  quotes  merely  '  very  charm- 
ing/ and  prints  this  in  large  type." 

Both  girls  smiled  at  the  expression  of  droll  sorrow  that  came 
over  the  poet's  face  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  I  am  so  very  unfortunate  myself,"  he  added,  "  when 
I  try  to  get  an  autograph  of  any  consequence.  Now  I  sent 
Gladstone  a  copy  of  a  work  on  trees  in  which  I  thought  that  he 
would  be  interested.  He  returned  the  compliment  with  a  copy 
of  one  of  his  own  books.  But — "  here  he  paused,  "  he  wrote 
his  thanks  on  a  post-card !  "  Again  the  girls  laughed.  "  Dear 
me !  "  he  concluded,  "  this  cannot  interest  young  creatures  like 
you;  do  you  care  for  poetry?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed  we  do,"  cried  Julia,  "  and  we  just  love  your 
poetry." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  poet,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  per- 
haps you  would  like  to  hear  me  read  something? " 

The  beaming  faces  that  met  his  glance  were  a  sufficient  an- 
swer, and  taking  a  volume  from  the  table,  Dr.  Holmes  began: 

"This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 
Sails  the  unshadowed  main, — 
The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 
And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea  maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair." 

When  he  had  finished  the  stanza,  he  looked  up  inquiringly. 


183 

"  The  Chambered  Nautilus,"  murmured  Julia. 

"  Ah,  you  know  it  then?  "  said  the  poet. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  love  it,"  she  answered. 

Then  with  a  smile  of  appreciation,  adjusting  his  glasses,  Dr. 
Holmes  read  to  the  end  of  the  poem  in  his  wonderfully  musical 
voice.  When  it  was  finished,  the  girls  would  have  liked  to  ask 
for  more,  but  the  poet  rose  to  replace  the  volume.  "  Come," 
he  said,  "  you  have  listened  to  the  poem  which  of  all  I  have 
written  I  like  the  best,  now  I  wish  to  show  you  my  favorite 
view." 

Following  him  to  the  deep  bay  window,  they  looked  out  across 
the  river.  It  was  much  the  same  view  to  which  Julia  was  accus- 
tomed in  her  uncle's  house,  and  yet  it  was  looking  at  the  river 
with  new  eyes  to  have  the  poet  pointing  out  all  the  towns, 
seven  or  eight  in  number,  which  he  could  see  from  that  win- 
dow. 

"  In  winter,"  he  said,  "  there  is  not  much  to  see  besides  the 
tug-boats  and  the  gulls.  But  in  the  early  spring  it  is  a  delight 
to  me  to  watch  the  crews  rowing  by,  and  an  occasional  pleasure- 
boat.  Ah!  I  remember — "  but  what  it  was  he  did  not  say, 
for  as  Edith  turned  her  eyes  toward  an  oil  painting  on  the  wall 
near  by,  he  said,  "  Of  course  you  know  who  that  is;  of  course 
you  recognize  the  famous  Dorothy  Q. 

"  Now  look  at  the  portrait  closely,  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  that  cheek.  Could  you  imagine  any  one  so  cruel  as 
to  have  struck  a  sword  into  it?  Yet  there,  if  your  eyes  are 
sharp  enough,  you  will  see  where  a  British  soldier  of  the  Eevo- 
lution  thrust  his  rapier." 

When  both  of  the  girls  admitted  that  they  could  not  see  the 
scar,  "  That  only  shows,"  he  said,  "  how  clever  the  man  was 
who  made  the  repairs." 


184 

Before  they  turned  from  the  window  he  made  them  notice 
the  tall  factory  chimneys  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  which 
he  called  his  thermometers,  because  according  to  the  direction 
in  which  the  smoke  curled  upwards  he  was  able  to  tell  how 
the  wind  blew,  and  decide  in  what  direction  he  should  walk. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  when  you  reach  my  age  always  to 
walk  with  your  back  to  the  wind,"  and  at  this  the  girls  smiled, 
feeling  that  it  would  be  many  years  before  they  should  need  to 
follow  this  advice.  Yet  during  their  call  how  many  things 
they  had  to  see  and  to  remember!  He  let  each  of  them  hold 
for  a  moment  the  gold  pen  with  which  he  had  written  Elsie 
Venner  and  the  Autocrat  papers,  and  Julia  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  the  large  Bible  and  the  concordance  on  the  top  of 
his  writing  table.  As  she  looked  about,  she  thought  that  she 
had  seldom  seen  a  prettier  room  than  this  with  its  cheerful 
rugs,  massive  furniture,  and  fine  pictures,  all  so  simple  and  yet 
so  dignified. 

Then  before  the  girls  could  realize  it  Dr.  Holmes  placed  in 
the  hand  of  each  of  them  a  small  volume  in  a  white  cover,  and 
bidding  them  open  their  books,  said,  "  Well,  I  must  put  some- 
thing on  that  bare  fly-leaf."  So  seating  himself  at  his  table 
with  a  quill  pen  in  his  hand,  he  wrote  slowly  and  evidently  with 
some  effort,  the  name  of  each  of  them,  followed  by  the  words, 
"  With  the  regards  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,"  and  then  the 
year,  and  the  day  of  the  month. 

As  he  handed  them  the  books  the  girls  turned  toward  the 
door.  With  a  word  or  two  more  of  half  bantering  thanks  to 
Julia  for  her  assistance  on  that  windy  day,  Dr.  Holmes  opened 
the  door,  and  bowed  them  down  the  stairs. 

HELEN  LEAH  REED. 


185 


man'u-script,  a  written  paper. 
un-fledged',  inexperienced. 
for'mi-da-ble,  exciting   fear;   dan- 
gerous. 
vo-cab'u-lar-y,  a  stock  of  words. 
fe-lic'i-tous,  fortunate. 


char'y,  careful. 
con'se-quence,  importance. 
ther-mom'e-ter,  an   instrument  to 

measure  heat. 
con-cord'ance,  contents  of  a  book 

arranged  in  alphabetical  order. 


HELEN  LEAH  REED  was  born  in  St.  John,  N.  B.,  but  was  reared 
in  Boston,  and  is  a  graduate  of  Radcliffe  College.  She  is  the  author  of 
"Brenda,  Her  School  and  Her  Club,"  "Brenda's  Summer  at  Rockley," 
and  "Brenda's  Cousin  at  Radcliffe/'  The  above  selection  is  taken  by 
permission  of  Little,  Brown  and  Company,  from  the  first-named  book. 


THE    LAST    LEAF 


I  saw  him  once  before 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 
The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 
Sad  and  wan; 


186 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 
"  They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  yea:L 

On  the  tomb. 

My  grandmamma  has  said — 
Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long  ago — 
That  he  had  a  Koman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow; 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff, 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here; 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer! 


re-sound',  to  echo. 
wan,  pale. 


187 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring, 
Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 

OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 


crook,  a  bend. 
meran-chol-y,  sad. 


THE   SCULLION    WHO    BECAME  A   SCULPTOR 

In  a  little  Italian  village  there  once  lived  a  jolly  stone-cutter 
named  Pisano.  He  was  poor,  of  course,  or  he  would  not  have 
been  a  stone-cutter;  but  he  was  full  of  good  humor  and  every- 
body liked  him.  There  was  one  little  boy,  especially,  who 
loved  Pisano,  and  whom  Pisano  loved  more  than  anybody  else 
in  the  world.  This  was  Antonio  Canova,  Pisano' s  grandson, 
who  had  come  to  live  with  him  because  his  father  was  dead, 
and  his  mother  had  married  a  harsh  man,  who  was  unkind  to 
little  Antonio. 

While  Pisano  worked  at  stone-cutting,  little  Canova  played 
at  it  and  other  things,  such  as  modeling  in  clay  and  drawing. 
The  boy  knew  nothing  of  art  or  its  laws,  but  he  fashioned  his 
lumps  of  clay  into  forms  of  real  beauty.  His  wise  grandfather 
was  much  too  poor,  as  he  knew,  ever  to  give  the  boy  an  art- 
education  and  make  an  artist  of  him,  but  he  thought  that  An- 
tonio might  at  least  learn  to  be  a  better  stone-cutter  than  was 
common. 


188 

As  the  boy  grew  older  he  began  to  help  in  the  shop  during 
the  day,  while  in  the  evening  his  grandmother  told  him  stories 
or  sang  or  recited  poetry  to  him.  All  these  things  were  educa- 
ting him,  for  they  were  awakening  his  taste  and  stimulating  his 
imagination,  which  found  expression  in  the  clay  models  that 
he  loved  to  make  in  his  leisure  hours. 

It  so  happened  that  Signor  Faliero,  the  head  of  a  noble 
Venetian  family  and  a  man  of  rare  understanding  in  art,  had 
a  place  near  Pisano's  house,  and  at  certain  seasons  the  noble- 
man entertained  many  distinguished  guests.  When  the  palace 
was  very  full  of  visitors,  old  Pisano  was  sometimes  hired  to 
help  the  servants  with  their  tasks,  and  the  boy  Canova,  when 
he  was  twelve  years  old,  sometimes  did  scullion's  work  there, 
also,  for  a  day,  when  some  great  feast  was  given. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the  Signor  Faliero  was  to 
entertain  a  very  large  company  at  dinner,  young  Canova  was  at 
work  over  the  pots  and  pans  in  the  kitchen.  The  head-servant 
made  his  appearance,  just  before  the  dinner  hour,  in  great 
distress. 

The  man  that  had  been  engaged  to  furnish  the  great  central 
ornament  for  the  table  had,  at  the  last  moment,  sent  word  that 
he  had  spoiled  the  piece.  It  was  now  too  late  to  secure  another, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  take  its  place.  The  great  vacant 
space  in  the  center  of  the  table  spoiled  the  effect  of  all  that 
had  been  done  to  make  the  feast  artistic  in  appearance,  and  it 
was  certain  that  Signor  Faliero  would  be  sorely  displeased. 

While  every  one  stood  dismayed  and  wondering,  the  begrimed 
scullion  boy  timidly  approached  the  distressed  head-servant, 
and  said,  "  If  you  will  let  me  try,  I  think  that  I  can  make  some- 
thing that  will  do." 

"  You  !  "  exclaimed  the  servant ;  "  and  who  are  you  ?  " 


189 

"  I  am  Antonio  Canova,  Pisano's  grandson/'  answered  the 
pale-faced  little  fellow. 

"  And  what  can  you  do,  pray  ?  "  asked  the  man,  astonished 
at  the  conceit  of  the  lad. 

"  I  can  make  you  something  that  will  do  for  the  middle  of 
the  table/'  said  the  boy,  "  if  you  will  let  me  try." 

At  last  he  consented  that  Canova  should  try.  Calling  for  a 
large  quantity  of  butter,  little  Antonio  quickly  modeled  a  great 
crouching  lion,  which  everybody  in  the  kitchen  pronounced 
beautiful,  and  which  the  now  rejoicing  head-servant  placed 
carefully  upon  the  table. 

The  company  that  day  consisted  of  the  most  cultivated  men  of 
Venice,  merchants,  princes,  noblemen,  artists,  and  lovers  of  art 
— and  among  them  were  many  who,  like  Faliero  himself,  were 
skilled  critics  of  art-work.  When  these  people  were  ushered  in 
to  dinner,  their  eyes  fell  upon  the  butter  lion,  and  they  forgot 
for  what  purpose  they  had  entered  the  dining-room.  They  saw 
something  of  higher  worth  in  their  eyes  than  any  dinner  could 
be,  namely,  a  work  of  genius. 

They  scanned  the  butter  lion  critically,  and  then  broke  forth 
in  a  torrent  of  praises,  insisting  that  Faliero  should  tell  them 
at  once  what  great  sculptor  he  had  persuaded  to  waste  his  skill 
upon  a  work  in  butter,  that  must  quickly  melt  away.  But 
Signor  Faliero  was  as  ignorant  as  they,  and  he  had,  in  his  turn, 
to  make  inquiry  of  the  chief  servant. 

When  the  company  learned  that  the  lion  was  the  work  of  a 
scullion,  Faliero  summoned  the  boy,  and  the  banquet  became 
a  sort  of  celebration  in  his  honor. 

But  it  was  not  enough  to  praise  a  lad  so  gifted.  These  were 
men  who  knew  that  such  genius  as  his  belonged  to  the  world, 
not  to  a  village,  and  it  was  their  pleasure  to  bring  it  to  perfec- 


190 


tion  by  educating  the  boy  in  art.  Signor  Faliero  himself 
claimed  the  right  to  provide  for  young  Antonio,  and  at  once 
declared  his  purpose  to  defray  the  lad's  expenses,  and  to  place 

him  under  the  tuition  of  the 
best  masters. 

The    boy    whose    highest 
ambition    had    been    to   be- 
come a  village  stone-cutter, 
and  whose  home  had  been  in 
his   poor   old   grandfather's 
cottage,  became  a  member  of 
Signor  Faliero's  family,  liv- 
ing in  his  palace,  having  at 
his  command  everything  that 
money  could  buy,  and  daily 
receiving    instruction    from 
the  best  sculptors  of  Venice. 
But   he   was   not   in   the 
least  spoiled  by  this  change 
in  his  fortunes.     He  remained  simple,  earnest,  and  unaffected. 
He  worked  as  hard  to  acquire  knowledge  and  skill  in  art  as  he 
had  meant  to  work  to  become  a  dexterous  stone-cutter. 

Antonio  Canova's  career,  from  the  day  on  which  he  moulded 
the  butter  into  a  lion,  was  steadily  upward ;  and  when  he  died, 
in  1822,  he  was  not  only  one  of  the  most  celebrated  sculptors 
of  his  time,  but  one  of  the  greatest,  indeed,  of  all  time. 

GEORGE *CARY  EGGLESTON. 


ANTONIO    CANOVA 


ar-tis'tic,  showing  taste. 
dis-mayed',  disheartened  from  fear, 
scullion,  a  kitchen  servant. 
scanned,  looked  at  closely. 


ig'no-rant,  without  knowledge. 
gen'ius,  natural  ability. 
dex'ter-ous,  very  skillful. 
cel'e-bra"ted,  well  known. 


191 


A   TRADITION    OF   WEATHERFORD 

Just  below  the  junction  of  the  Alabama  and  Tombigbee 
rivers,  on  the  east  side  of  the  stream,  you  will  find  the  little 
town  of  Tensaw.  Near  this  Fort  Mims  once  stood.  Not.  far 
away  were  Fort  Sinquefield  and  Fort  White,  and  farther  south 
was  Fort  Glass.  On  the  30th  of  August  [1813],  the  Indians 
attacked  Fort  Mims,  and  after  a  desperate  battle,  destroyed  it, 
killing  all  but  seventeen  of  the  five  hundred  and  fifty  people 
who  were  living  in  it. 

The  news  of  this  terrible  slaughter  quickly  spread  over  the 
country,  and  everybody  knew  now  that  a  general  war  had  begun, 
in  which  the  Indians  meant  to  destroy  the  whites  utterly,  not 
sparing  even  the  youngest  children.  The  fiercest  and  most  con- 
spicuous leader  of  the  Indians  in  this  war  was  Weatherford, 
or  The  Red  Eagle.  He  planned  and  led  the  assault  upon  Fort 
Mims,  and  was  everywhere  foremost  in  all  the  fighting. 

As  rapidly  as  possible  people  gathered  into  the  forts  for 
safety,  but  by  one  accident  and  another  many  were  cut  off. 
Among  the  latter  was  Sam  Hardwicke,  a  boy  of  sixteen. 
Mounted  on  a  good  horse  Sam  tried  to  make  his  way  to  safety. 

With  a  party  of  about  twenty-five  Indians,  Weatherford 
bivouacked  one  night  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  when  Sam 
mounted  his  horse  the  next  morning  the  Indians  were  lying 
asleep  immediately  in  his  path. 

The  first  intimation  that  he  had  of  their  'presence  was  a 
grunt  from  a  big  savage  lying  almost  under  his  horse's  feet. 
Coming  to  himself,  Sam  took  in  the  whole  situation  at  a  glance. 
He  saw  before  him  the  savages,  rising  from  the  ground  at  sight 
of  him.     He  saw  their  horses  browsing  at  some  little  distance 


192 

from  them.  He  saw  a  rifle,  on  which  hung  a  powder-horn  and 
a  bullet-pouch,  standing  against  a  bush.  He  saw  that  he  had 
already  aroused  the  foe,  and  that  he  must  stand  a  chase. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  turn  around  and  ride  back,  in  the 
direction  whence  he  had  come.  But  in  that  direction  lay  the 
thicket  through  which  he  could  not  ride  rapidly.  Just  beyond 
the  group  of  Indians  he  saw  the  open  fields.  He  made  up  his 
mind  at  once  that  he  would  push  his  horse  into  a  run,  dash 
right  through  the  camp  of  the  savages,  pick  up  the  convenient 
rifle  if  possible,  and  reaching  the  open  country,  make  all  the 
speed  he  could. 

Without  pausing  or  turning,  he  pushed  his  horse  at  a  full  run 
through  the  group  of  savages,  receiving  a  glancing  blow  from 
a  war  club  and  dodging  several  others  as  he  went.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  possession  of  the  rifle,  and  reached  the  field 
before  a  gun  could  be  aimed  at  him.  Infuriated  by  his  bold- 
ness, the  Indians  immediately  mounted  their  horses  and  gave 
chase. 

The  question  had  now  resolved  itself,  Sam  thought,  into  one 
of  endurance.  How  long  the  Indians  would  continue  a  pursuit 
in  which  he  had  the  advantage  of  half  a  mile  the  start,  he  had 
no  way  of  determining,  but  he  had  every  reason  to  hope. 

Just  as  he  had  comforted  himself  with  this  thought,  a  new 
danger  assailed  him.  One  of  the  Indians,  with  a  minute  knowl- 
edge of  the  country,  had  saved  a  considerable  distance  by  riding 
through  a  strip  of  woods  and  cutting  off  an  angle.  When  Sam 
first  caught  sight  of  him,  coming  out  of  the  woods,  the  savage 
was  within  a  dozen  yards  of  him,  and  evidently  gaining  upon 
him  at  every  step. 

Sam's  horse  was  a  fleet  one,  but  that  of  the  Indian  was  ap- 
parently a  thoroughbred,  whose  speed  remained  nearly  as  great 


103 

after  a  mile's  run  as  at  the  start.  Finding  at  last  that  he  must 
shortly  he  overtaken,  Sam  resolved  upon  a  bold  maneuvre,  by 
which  to  kill  his  foremost  pursuer.  Seizing  his  hatchet,  he 
suddenly  stopped  his  horse,  and,  as  the  Indian  came  alongside, 
Sam  aimed  a  savage  blow  at  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Sam  ?  "  said  the  Indian  in  good  Eng- 
lish, dodging  the  blow.  "  I'm  Weatherford.  If  I  had  wanted 
to  kill  you,  I  might  have  done  so  a  dozen  times  in  the  last  five 
minutes.  You  know  that  I  don't  want  to  kill  you,  though 
you're  the  only  white  man  on  earth  I'd  let  go.  But  the  others 
will  make  an  end  of  you  if  they  catch  you. 

"  Ride  on,  and  I'll  chase  you.  Turn  to  the  left  there,  and 
ride  to  the  bluff.  I'll  follow  you.  There's  a  gully  through  the 
top.  Ride  down  it  as  far  as  you  can  and  jump  your  horse 
over  the  cliff.  It  is  nearly  fifty  feet  high,  and  may  kill  you, 
but  it  is  the  only  way.  The  other  warriors  are  coming  up,  and 
they  will  kill  you  if  you  don't  jump.  Jump,  and  I'll  tell  them 
I  chased  you." 

Sam  knew  Weatherford  well,  and  he  knew  why  the  chief 
wished  to  spare  him  if  he  could.  Sam  had  rescued  Weatherford 
once  from  an  imminent  peril  at  great  risk  to  himself.  So  the 
two  rode  on,  Sam  going  down  the  gully  furiously,  that  his  horse 
might  not  be  able  to  refuse  the  frightful  leap. 

Coming  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  with  headlong  speed, 
the  animal  could  not  draw  back,  but  plunged  over  with  Sam 
sitting  bolt  upright  on  his  back.  He  had  no  saddle  or  stirrups 
in  which  to  become  entangled,  and  as  the  horse  struck  the  water 
fairly,  the  blow  was  not  so  severe  a  shock  to  the  boy  as  he  had 
expected. 

Both  went  under  the  water,  but  rising  again  in  a  moment 
Sam  slid  off  the  animal's  back,  to  give  the  poor  horse  a  better 


194 

chance  to  escape  by  swimming.  Striking  out  boldly  the  boy 
reached  the  bank,  and,  crawling  up,  looked  for  his  horse.  For 
a  time  he  drifted  while  Sam  ran  along  the  bank,  calling  and 
encouraging  him.  He  struck  the  shore  at  last,  and  Sam,  ex- 
amining him,  found  that  while  he  was  stunned  and  bruised  no 
serious  damage  had  been  done. 

GEORGE  CARY  EGGLESTON. 


junction,  a  joining. 
con-spic'u-ous,  attracting  attention. 
in"ti-ma'tion,  hint;  notice  of. 
brows'ing,  feeding  on  grass. 
as-sailed',  attacked. 
thorough-bred,   a    horse    of    high 
quality. 


ma-neu'vre,  a  trick  or  device. 
gul'ly,  a  channel  worn  by  water. 
im'mi-nent,  overhanging;  threaten- 
ing. 
se-vere',  sharp,  violent. 
in-fu'ri-a"ted,  made  furious. 


ON    A  HIGHER   LEVEL 


Jack  Dunn  stood  in  the  door  of  his  home  on  a  crag  of  Per- 
simmon Ridge  and  loaded  his  old  rifle.  Suddenly  there  came 
from  the  valley  the  baying  of  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full  cry. 
The  boy  looked  wistful  as  he  heard  it,  and  then  frowned. 

"  Those  Saunders  men  have  gone  off  and  left  me/'  he  said 
reproachfully ;  "  here  I've  been  kept  chopping  wood  and  pull- 
ing fodder  until  they  have  had  time  to  get  up  a  deer." 

Then  taking  his  rifle  as  the  shadows  grew  long,  he  set  out 
for  the  profit  and  the  pleasure  of  still-hunting.  Following  the 
course  of  the  mountain  stream,  which  was  swollen  by  heavy 
rains,  and  was  now  rushing  and  foaming  far  out  of  its  banks, 
he  came  to  an  old  and  ruined  mill. 

No  human  being  could  live  there,  but  in  the  doorway  ap- 


195 

peared  a  boy  dressed  like  Jack  in  an  old  brown  jeans  suit  and 
a  shapeless  white  hat.     This  was  Andy  Bailey. 

"  Have  you  been  hunting  ?  "  asked  Jack.  Andy  nodded  as- 
sent. Jack  walked  down  into  the  rickety  mill  and  stood  leaning 
against  the  rotten  old  hopper.  "  What  did  you  get  ?  "  he  said, 
looking  about  for  the  game. 

"  Well,"  drawled  Andy,  with  much  hesitation,  "  I  haven't 
been  started  out  long."  He  turned  from  the  door  and  faced 
his  companion  rather  sheepishly. 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  been  popping  off  that  rifle  of  yours 
along  the  deer-path  down  in  the  hollow,  and  scaring  off  all  the 
game,"  said  Jack.  "  If  I  were  as  poor  a  shot  as  you  are,  Pd 
go  a-hunting  with  a  bean-pole  instead  of  a  gun,  and  leave  the 
game  to  them  that  can  shoot  it." 

For  a  mountain-boy,  Andy  was  a  poor  shot  and,  therefore, 
the  scoff  of  Persimmon  Ridge. 

"  I've  seen  many  a  girl  who  could  shoot  as  well  as  you, — 
better,"  continued  Jack  jeeringly.  "  But  la !  I  needn't  go 
down  there  into  the  hollow  expecting  to  get  a  deer  to-day.  They 
are  all  off  in  the  woods  a-smelling  the  powder  that  you  have 
been  wasting." 

Andy  was  pleased  to  change  the  subject.  "  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  water  is  scuttling  along  tolerably  fast,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  little  window  through  which  the  stream  could  be  seen. 

It  was  running  fast,  and  with  a  tremendous  force.  Logs  and 
branches  shot  by,  half  hidden  in  foam.  The  old  mill,  whose 
wooden  supports  were  now  completely  under  water,  trembled 
and  throbbed  with  the  rushing  stream.  As  Jack  looked  toward 
the  window,  his  cheek  paled,  and  he  sprang  to  the  door  with  a 
frightened  exclamation. 

Too  late!  the  immense  bole  of  a  fallen  tree,  shooting  down 


196 

the  channel  with  force  and  velocity,  struck  the  tottering  sup- 
ports of  the  crazy,  rotting  building. 

It  careened,  and  quivered  in  every  fibre.  There  was  a  crash 
of  falling  timbers,  then  a  mighty  wrench,  and  the  two  boys, 
clinging  to  the  window-frame,  were  driving  with  the  wreck 
down  the  river. 

The  old  mill  thundered  against  the  submerged  rocks,  and  at 
every  concussion  the  timbers  fell.  It  whirled  around  and 
around  in  eddying  pools.  Where  the  water  was  clear,  and 
smooth,  and  deep,  it  shot  along  with  great  rapidity. 

The  clinging  boys  looked  down  upon  the  black  current,  with 
its  sharp,  treacherous,  half-seen  rocks  and  ponderous  driftwood. 
The  wild  idea  of  plunging  into  the  tumult  and  trying  to  swim 
to  the  bank  faded  as  they  looked.  Here  in  the  crazy  build- 
ing there  might  be  a  chance.  In  that  frightful  swirl  there 
lurked  only  a  grim  certainty. 

The  boys  were  caged,  as  it  were.  The  door-way  was  filled 
with  the  heavy  debris,  and  the  only  possibility  of  escape  was 
through  that  little  window.  It  was  so  small  that  only  one 
could  pass  through  at  a  time, — only  one  could  be  saved. 

Jack  had  seen  the  chance  from  far  up  the  stream.  There  was 
a  stretch  of  smooth  water  close  to  the  bank,  on  which  was  a 
low-hanging  beech-tree, — he  might  catch  the  branches. 

They  were  approaching  the  spot  with  great  rapidity.  Only 
one  could  go.  He  himself  had  discovered  the  opportunity,^it 
was  his  own. 

Life  was  sweet, — so  sweet !  He  could  not  give  it  up ;  he  could 
not  now  take  thought  for  his  friend.  He  could  only  hope  with 
a  frenzied  eagerness  that  Andy  had  not  seen  the  possibility  of 
deliverance. 

In  another  moment  Andy  lifted  himself  into  the  window. 


197 

A  whirlpool  caught  the  wreck,  and  there  it  eddied  in  dizzying 
circles.  It  was  not  yet  too  late.  Jack  could  tear  the  smaller, 
weaker  boy  away  with  one  strong  hand,  and  take  the  only 
chance  for  escape. 

The  shattered  mill  was  dashing  through  the  smoother  waters 
now ;  the  great  beech-tree  was  hanging  over  their  heads ;  an  in- 
explicable, overpowering  impulse  mastered  in  an  instant  Jack's 
temptation. 

"  Catch  the  branches,  Andy !  "  he  cried  wildly. 

His  friend  was  gone,  and  he  was  whirling  off  alone  on  those 
cruel,  frantic  waters.  In  the  midst  of  the  torrent  he  was  going 
down,  and  down,  and  down  the  mountain.  Now  and  then  he 
had  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  distant  ranges. 

The  familiar  sight,  the  recollection  of  his  home,  brought  sud- 
den tears  to  his  eyes.  On,  on,  in  this  mad  rush  he  went  down 
to  the  bitterness  of  death. 

Even  with  this  terrible  fact  before  him,  he  did  not  reproach 
himself  with  his  costly  generosity.  It  was  strange  to  him  that 
he  did  not. regret  it;  perhaps,  like  that  mountain  in  its  sunset 
glory,  he  had  suddenly  taken  up  life  on  a  higher  level. 

The  sunset  splendor  was  fading.  The  whole  landscape 
seemed  full  of  reeling  black  shadows, — and  yet  it  was  not  night. 
The  roar  of  the  torrent  was  growing  faint  upon  his  ear,  and 
yet  its  speed  was  not  checked.  Soon  all  was  dark  and  all  was 
still,  and  the  world  slipped  from  his  grasp. 

"  They  tell  me  that  Jack  Dunn  was  nearly  drowned  when 
the  men  fished  him  out  of  the  pond  at  the  sawmill  down  in  the 
valley,"  said  Andy  Bailey,  recounting  the  incident  to  the  fire- 
side circle  at  his  own  home.  "  They  saw  the  rotten  old  timbers 
come  floating  into  the  pond,  and  then  they  saw  something  like  a 
person  hanging  to  them. 


198 

"  The  water  was  smooth,  there,  so  they  had  no  trouble  in 
swimming  out  to  him.  They  couldn't  bring  him  to,  though,  at 
first.  They  said  in  a  little  more  he  would  have  been  gone. 
Now  " — pridefully — "  if  he  had  had  the  grit  to  catch  a  tree 
and  pull  out,  as  I  did,  he  wouldn't  have  been  in  such  a  danger." 

Andy  never  knew  the  sacrifice  that  his  friend  had  made. 
Jack  never  told  him.  Applause  is  at  best  a  slight  thing.  A 
great  action  is  nobler  than  the  monument  that  commemorates 
it ;  and  when  a  man  gives  himself  into  the  control  of  a  generous 
impulse,  thenceforward  he  takes  up  life  on  a  higher  level. 

MARY  N.  MURFREE. 


bay'ing,  barking. 

rick'et-y,  about  to  fall  to  pieces. 

sheep'ish-ly,  ashamed. 

scoff,  a  laughing-stock. 

jeer'ing-ly,  in  a  mocking  manner. 

scut'tling,  running. 

sub-merged',  under  water. 


con-cus'sion,  a  shock. 
ed'dy-ing,  whirling. 
fren'zied,  crazed;  anxious. 
in-ex'pli-ca-ble;  not  to  be  explained. 
sac'ri-flce,  self-denial. 
com-mem'o-rates,  keeps  in  mind. 


MARY  N.  MURFREE,  a  native  of  Tennessee,  was  born  about  1850. 
She  has  written  very  entertaining  stories  about  the  people  of  the  Tennessee 
mountains.  Her  pen-name  is  Charles  Egbert  Craddock.  Some  of  her 
best  known  books  are  "In  the  Stranger  People's  Country,"  "The  Prophet 
of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountain/'  "In  the  Tennessee  Mountains,"  and  "The 
Story  of  Keedon  Bluffs."  The  selection  is  published  with  the  consent  of 
Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company. 

Compare  the  hero  of  this  story  with  Little  Giffen,  Elizabeth  Zane, 
and  the  boys  of  Muirtown  Seminary.     Who  was  the  bravest?     Write  your 


Write  a  story  of  a  brave  deed.     What  led  up  to  the  deed?    How  was  it  per- 
formed?   What  were  the  results? 


199 


LORD    ULLIN'S    DAUGHTER 

A  Chieftain,  to  the  Highlands  bound, 
Cries,  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry ! 

And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  pound, 
To  row  us  e'er  the  ferry." 

"  Now  who  be  ye,  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  isle, 
And  this  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

"  And  fast  before  her  father's  men 
Three  days  we've  fled  together, 

[For  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 

My  blood  would  stain  the  heather. 

"  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride ; 

Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 

.When  they  have  slain  her  lover  ? " 

Outspoke  the  hardy  Highland  wight, 
"  I'll  go,  my  chief — I'm  ready ; 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright, 
But  for  your  winsome  lady ; 

"  And  by  my  word !  the  bonny  bird 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry; 

So  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 
I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 


200 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace, 
The  water-wraith  was  shrieking; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still  as  wilder  blew  the  wind, 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men, 

Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 

"  Oh,  haste  thee,  haste !  "  the  lady  cries, 
"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather ; 

I'll  meet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 

The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her, 
When  oh !  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  row'd  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing : 
Lord  Ullin  reach' d  that  fatal  shore, 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing; 

For  sore  dismay'd,  through  storm  and  shade, 

His  child  he  did  discover: 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretch' d  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 

"  Come  back !  come  back !  "  he  cried  in  grief, 

"  Across  this  stormy  water : 
And  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  chief, 

My  daughter  ! — oh  my  daughter  !  " 


201 

'Twas  vain:  the  loud  waves  lashed  the  shore, 

Return  or  aid  preventing; 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 


loch,  a  lake. 

heath'er,  a  small   flowering  shrub 

common  in  Scotland. 
bon'ny,  pleasing. 


win'some,  winning. 
a-pace',  quickly. 
wa'ter-wraith,  water  spirit. 
la-ment'ing,  mourning. 


THOMAS  CAMPBELL  (1777-1844),  a  British  poet  and  critic,  was 
born  in  Glasgow.  His  works  include  "Pleasures  of  Hope/'  "LochiePs 
Warning,"  "Ye  Mariners  of  England,"  "Battle  of  the  Baltic,"  "Exile  of 
Erin,"  and  "Hohenlinden."  (He  saw  the  battle  of  Hohenlinden.) 
"  Pleasures  of  Hope  "  is  the  most  popular. 


THE  CORONATION  OF  THE  CZAR 
CZARINA 


AND    THE 


The  coronation  was  much  more  beautiful  than  any  one  could 
possibly  have  imagined  that  it  was  going  to  be.  The  tribune  to 
the  right  of  the  thrones  was  the  one  most  closely  crowded.  It 
held  the  grand-duchesses  and  the  ladies  of  the  court,  who  were 
in  the  native  costume  of  the  country,  and  who  wore  the  dia- 
monds for  which  Russia  is  celebrated. 

On  the  tribune  immediately  behind  the  throne  stood  the 
Russian  senators  in  magnificent  coats  of  gold,  with  boots  to  the 
hip  and  white  leather  breeches,  and  with  ostrich  feathers  in 
their  peaked  hats.  With  them  were  the  correspondents,  the 
Germans  and  Russians  in  military  uniforms,  the  Englishmen 


202 

in  their  own  court  dress,  and  the  Frenchmen  and  Americans  in 
evening  dress. 

The  diplomats  and  their  wives,  and  the  visiting  commanders- 
in-chief  and  generals  of  armies  from  all  over  the  world,  occu- 
pied the  third  tribune  to  the  left  of  the  throne,  and  formed  the 
most  splendid  and  gorgeous  group  of  all.  Around  the  platform 
itself  were  the  princes  and  grand-dukes  glittering  with  the 
chains  and  crosses  of  the  imperial  orders.  Between  the  screen 
and  the  platform  the  priests  moved  to  and  fro  in  jeweled  mitres 
as  large  as  a  diver's  helmet,  and  in  robes  stiff  with  gold  and 
precious  stones,  their  vestments  flashing  like  the  scales  of  gold- 
fish. 

But  nothing  in  the  whole  drama  of  the  morning  presented 
so  impressive  a  picture  as  did  the  young  Empress  when  she  first 
entered  the  chapel  and  stood  before  her  throne.  Of  all  the 
women  there,  she  was  the  most  simply  robed,  and  of  all  the 
women  there,  she  was  by  far  the  most  beautiful.  A  single 
string  of  pearls  was  her  only  ornament,  and  her  hair,  which 
was  worn  like  that  of  a  Russian  peasant  girl,  fell  in  two  long 
plaits  over  her  bare  shoulders.  Her  robe  of  white  and  silver 
was  as  simple  as  that  of  a  child  going  to  her  first  communion. 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  ceremony,  perhaps,  was 
when  the  Czar  changed  from  a  bareheaded  young  officer  in  a 
colonel's  uniform,  to  an  emperor  in  the  most  magnificent  robes 
an  emperor  could  assume,  and  when  the  Czarina  followed  him, 
and  from  the  peasant  girl  became  a  queen,  with  the  majesty  of 
a  queen. 

When  the  moment  had  arrived  for  this  transformation  to 
take  place,  the  Czar's  uncle,  the  Grand-Duke  Vladimir,  and  his 
younger  brother  Alexander  lifted  the  collars  of  the  different 
orders  from  the  Czar's  shoulders.     They  then  fastened  upon 


fk  im  tk*  Lmmdam  **  Grmjkie." 
THE  CZAK  CBOWXTSG  THE   CZJLRTSA 


204 

him  the  imperial  of  gold  cloth,  which  is  some  fifteen  feet  in 
length,  with  a  cape  of  ermine,  and  covered  with  the  double 
eagle  of  Russia  in  black  enamel  and  precious  stones. 

Over  this  they  placed  the  broad  diamond  Collar  of  St.  An- 
drew, which  sank  into  the  bed  of  snowy  white  fur,  and  lay  glim- 
mering and  flashing  as  the  Emperor  moved  forward  to  take  the 
imperial  diadem  from  the  hands  of  the  Metropolitan  of  St. 
Petersburg. 

The  crown  was  a  marvelous  thing,  fashioned  in  two  halves 
to  typify  the  eastern  and  western  kingdoms.  It  was  formed 
entirely  of  white  diamonds,  and  surrounded  by  a  great  glowing 
ruby,  above  which  was  a  diamond  cross.  The  Czar  lifted  this 
globe  of  flame  and  light  high  above  him,  then  lowered  it  to  his 
head,  and  took  the  scepter  in  his  right  hand  and  the  globe  in 
his  left. 

When  he  had  seated  himself  upon  the  throne,  the  Czarina 
stood  up  and  walked  to  a  place  in  front  of  him.  There  she  sank 
upon  her  knees  at  his  feet,  with  her  bare  hands  clasped  before 
her.  He  rested  his  crown  for  an  instant  upon  her  brow,  and 
then  replacing  it  upon  his  head,  lowered  a  smaller  crown  of 
diamonds  upon  hers.  Three  ladies-in-waiting  fastened  it  to 
her  hair  with  long  gold  hair-pins,  the  Czar  watching  them  with 
deepest  interest  as  they  did  so. 

Then,  as  they  retired,  two  of  the  grand-dukes  placed  a  mantle 
similar  to  the  Czar's  upon  her  shoulders,  and  hung  another 
diamond  collar  upon  the  ermine  of  her  cape.  When  this  was 
done,  the  Czarina  stepped  back  to  her  throne  of  ivory  >  and  the 
Czar  to  his  throne  of  turquoise. 

The  supreme  moment  had  come  and  gone,  and  Nicholas  the  II 
and  Alexandra  Feodorovna  sat  crowned  before  the  nations  of 
the  world. 


205 

Some  one  made  a  signal  through  the  open  door,  and  the  diplo- 
mats on  the  tribune  outside  rose  to  their  feet,  and  the  crush  of 
moujiks  below  them  sank  on  their  knees,  and  the  regiments 
of  young  peasant  soldiers  flung  their  guns  at  salute,  and  the 
bells  of  the  churches  carried  the  news  over  the  heads  of  the 
kneeling  thousands  across  the  walls  of  the  Kremlin  to  where 
one  hundred  and  one  cannon  hurled  it  on  across  the  river  and 
up  to  the  highest  hill  of  Moscow,  where  the  modern  messengers 
of  good  and  evil  began  to  tick  it  out  to  Odessa,  to  Constanti- 
nople, to  Berlin,  to.  Paris,  to  the  rocky  coast  of  Penzance,  where 
it  slipped  into  the  sea  and  hurried  on  under  the  ocean  to  the 
illuminated  face  in  the  Cable  Company's  tall  building  on 
Broadway  [New  York  City],  until  the  world  had  been  circled, 
and  the  answering  congratulations  came  pouring  into  Moscow 
while  the  young  Emperor  still  stood  under  the  dome  of  the 
little  chapel. 

After  the  congratulations  the  ceremony  was  continued  by  the 
priests  alone,  who  chanted  and  prayed  for  nearly  two  hours, 
during  which  time  the  Czar  and  Czarina  took  little  part  in  the 
services  beyond  crossing  themselves  at  certain  intervals.  At 
last  the  priests  ceased,  and  the  most  solemn  ceremony  of  the 
coronation  was  reached.  The  Czar  passed  from  sight  through 
the  jeweled  door  of  the  screen,  while  his  young  wife,  who  could 
not  enter  with  him,  waited,  praying  for  him. 

When  he  came  forth  again,  the  tears  were  streaming  down 
his  cheeks.  One  could  see  in  his  face,  white  and  drawn  with 
hours  of  prayer  and  fasting,  how  strongly  he  was  moved.  And 
one  could  imagine  what  he  felt  when  he  looked  forward  into  the 
many  years  to  come  and  again  saw  himself  as  he  was  at  that 
moment,  a  young  man  of  twenty-eight,  taking  in  his  hands  the 
insignia  of  absolute  sovereignty  over  the  bodies  of  one  hundred 


206 

million  people  and  on  his  lips  the  most  sacred  of  oaths  to 
protect  the  welfare  of  one  hundred  million  souls. 

RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS. 


cor"o-na'tion,  crowning. 

trib'une,  a  raised  place. 

dip'lo-mats,  representatives  of  for- 
eign countries. 

mi'ter,  a  headpiece  worn  by  a 
bishop. 

com-mun'ion,  a  sacrament  of  the 
church. 


as-sume',  to  put  on. 
trans"for-ma'tion,    a    striking 

change. 
en-am'el,  a  hard  coating. 
typ'i-fy,  to  be  a  sign  of. 
mou'jiks,  Russian  peasants. 
in-sig'ni-a,  the  signs  of  rank. 


PATRIOTISM 


Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land !  " 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well! 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim — 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentered  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 

SIR   WAITER  SCOTT. 


207 


PRESIDENT    McKINLEY'S    INAUGURATION 

When  the  new  Senators  had  taken  the  oath,  the  procession 
formed  to  march  out  to  the  stand  erected  in  front  of  the  Senate 
wing  of  the  Capitol.  There  the  chief  ceremony  of  the  day,  the 
swearing  in  of  the  new  President  by  the  Chief  Justice,  was  to 
take  place. 

Any  scene  with  the  Capitol  building  for  a  background  must 
of  necessity  be  impressive.  Its  situation  is  more  imposing  than 
that  of  the  legislative  buildings  of  any  other  country;  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  on  the  Thames,  and  at  Budapest,  on  the 
Danube,  appear  heavy  and  somber  in  comparison;  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies,  on  the  Seine,  is  not  to  be  compared  with  it 
in  any  way.  No  American  can  look  upon  it,  and  see  its  great 
swelling  dome,  balanced  on  the  shoulders  of  the  two  marble 
wings,  and  the  myriads  of  steps  leading  to  it,  without  feeling 
a  thrill  of  pride  and  pleasure  that  so  magnificent  a  monument 
should  belong  to  his  country  and  to  him. 

To  the  foreigners  in  the  crowd  the  absence  of  any  guard  or 
escort  of  soldiers  near  the  President,  or  of  soldiers  of  any 
sort,  was  probably  the  most  peculiar  feature  of  the  scene.  In 
no  other  country  would  the  head  of  the  nation,  whether  he  rules 
by  inheritance  or  is  elected  to  power,  stand  on  such  an  occasion 
so  close  to  the  people  without  a  military  escort.  Indeed,  when 
the  President  takes  the  oath  of  office  before  the  people,  and 
delivers  his  inaugural  address,  there  is  not  a  single  man  in 
uniform  to  stand  between  him  and  his  fellow-countrymen, 
crowded  so  closely  to  him  that  by  bending  forward  he  could 
touch  them  with  his  hand. 

Down  below  the  crowd  cheered  mightily  when  it  saw  the 


THE    INAUGURATION    OF   PRESIDENT   MCKINLEY 


209 

President  and  President-elect.  Major  McKinley  walked  out 
to  the  dais,  and  bowed  bare-headed  many  times,  while  Mr. 
Cleveland,  who  throughout  the  day  had  left  the  center  of  the 
stage  entirely  to  his  friend,  gazed  about  him  at  the  swaying 
crowd,  and  perhaps  remembered  two  other  inaugural  addresses 
which  he  had  delivered  to  much  the  same  crowd  of  people  from 
the  same  platform. 

The  people  were  not  kept  waiting  long,  for  the  ceremony  that 
makes  a  President  lasts  less  than  six  minutes,  while  six  hours 
are  required  to  fasten  the  crown  upon  the  Czar  of  Russia  and 
to  place  the  scepter  in  his  hand.  One  stone  in  that  scepter  is 
worth  one  million  of  dollars,  the  crown  three  millions,  and  all 
the  rulers  of  Europe  or  their  representatives,  and  great  generals 
and  statesmen,  surround  the  Emperor  when  he  takes  the  oath 
of  office  in  the  chapel  of  the  gilded  walls  and  jeweled  pillars. 
And  outside  seventy  thousand  soldiers  guard  his  safety. 

The  Chief  Justice  in  his  vast  silken  robe  took  the  Bible, 
which  the  clerk  of  the  Senate  handed  to  him,  and  held  it  open 
before  the  President-elect.  The  President,  who  was  in  a  mo- 
ment to  be  the  ex-President,  stood  up  beside  them,  with  his  hat 
in  his  hand  and  his  head  bared  to  the  spring  breeze. 

The  people  saw  three  men  dressed  plainly  in  black,  one  of 
them  grave  and  judicial,  another  pale  and  earnest,  and  the  third 
looking  out  across  the  people  unmoved  and  content.  The  noise 
and  movement  among  the  people  were  stilled  for  a  moment  as 
the  voice  of  the  Chief  Justice  recited  the  oath  of  office. 

As  he  spoke,  it  was  as  though  he  had  pronounced  an  incanta- 
tion, for  although  the  three  figures  remained  as  they  were,  so 
far  as  the  people  could  see,  a  great  transformation  that  the 
people  could  not  see  passed  over  the  whole  of  the  land,  and  its 
influence  penetrated  to  the  furthermost  corners  of  the  earth. 


210 

There  came  a  new  face  at  the  door  and  a  new  step  on  the  floor, 
and  men  that  had  thoughts  above  office,  men  that  held  office,  and 
men  that  hoped  to  hold  office  recognized  the  change  that  had 
come. 

A  government  had  changed  hands  with  the  quietness  and  dig- 
nity of  the  Chief  Justice  himself,  and  as  Major  McKinley  bent 
to  kiss  the  open  Bible  he  became  the  executive  head  of  the 
government  of  the  United  States,  and  Mr.  Cleveland  one  of  the 
many  millions  of  American  citizens  that  he  had  sworn  to 
protect. 

A  few  foolish  people  attended  the  inauguration  exercises  and 
went  away  disappointed.  This  was  not  because  the  exercises 
were  not  of  interest,  but  for  the  reason  that  the  visitors  saw 
them  from  the  wrong  point  of  view.  They  apparently  expected 
to  find  in  the  inauguration  of  the  president  of  a  republic  the 
same  glitter  and  display  that  they  had  witnessed  in  state  cere- 
monies in  Europe.  And  by  looking  for  pomp  and  rigid  eti- 
quette and  officialism,  they  missed  the  whole  significance  of  the 
inauguration,  which  is  not  intended  to  glorify  any  one  man,  but 
which  is  a  national  celebration.  In  this  celebration  every  citi- 
zen has  a  share — a  sort  of  family  gathering,  where  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  clan,  from  the  residents  of  the  thirteen  original 
States  to  those  of  that  State  which  has  put  the  latest  star  in 
the  flag,  are  brought  together  to  rejoice  over  a  victory  and  to 
make  the  best  of  a  defeat. 

There  is  no  such  celebration  in  any  other  country,  and  it  is 
surely  much  better  to  enjoy  it  as  something  unique  in  its  way 
and  distinctly  our  own,  than  to  compare  some  of  its  features 
with  like  features  of  coronations  and  royal  weddings  abroad, 
in  which  certain  ruling  families  glorify  themselves  and  the 
people  pay  the  bills. 


211 

In  Europe  the  people  have  little  part  in  the  state  functions 
except  as  spectators.  They  pay  taxes  to  support  a  royal  family 
and  a  standing  army,  and  when  a  part  of  the  royal  family  or  a 
part  of  the  army  goes  out  on  parade,  the  people  line  the  side- 
walks and  look  on. 

In  the  inaugural  procession  the  people  themselves  are  the  per- 
formers; the  rulers  for  the  time  being  are  of  their  own  choos- 
ing; and  the  people  not  only  march  in  the  parade,  but  they 
accomplish  the  somewhat  difficult  feat  of  standing  on  the  side- 
walks and  watching  themselves  as  they  do  it. 

RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS. 


leg'is-la-tive,  law-making. 

for'eign-ers,  persons  born  in  an- 
other country. 

in-her'it-ance,  property  received 
through  the  death  of  a  relative. 

in-au'gu-ral,  the  first  address  of  an 
official. 

scep'ter,  a  staff  borne  as  a  sign  of 
royalty. 


in'^an-ta'tion,  magic  words. 
pen'e-tra^ted,  passed  through. 
ex-ec'u-tive,  relating  to  the  carrying 

out  of  laws. 
sig-nif'i-cance,  meaning. 
u-nique\  peculiar. 
function,  a  formal  ceremony. 


RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS  was  born  in  Philadelphia  in  1864. 
He  has  made  a  name  for  himself  both  as  a  newspaper  correspondent  and 
as  a  story-writer.  One  collection  of  Mr.  Davis's  short  stories  has  been 
published  under  the  title  "Stories  for  Boys."  Boys  like  also  some  of 
his  war-time  writings  and  stories  of  adventure  in  foreign  lands,  such  as 
"Soldiers  of  Fortune,"  "Three  Gringos  in  Venezuela,"  "Cuba  in  War 
Time,"  "With  Both  Armies  in  South  Africa,"  and  "A  Year  from  a  Re- 
porter's Note  Book."  "The  Coronation  of  the  Czar"  and  "The  In- 
auguration of  President  McKinley  "  are  from  the  last-named  book,  and 
are  used  here  by  the  permission  of  the  author  and  by  the  consent  of  the 
publishers,  Harper  and  Brothers. 


212 


SPRING 


Spring,  with  that  nameless  pathos  in  the  air 
Which  dwells  with  all  things  fair — 
Spring,  with  her  golden  suns  and  silver  rain, 
Is  with  us  once  again. 

In  the  deep  heart  of  every  forest  tree 
The  blood  is  all  aglee, 

And  there's  a  look  about  the  leafless  bowers 
As  if  they  dreamed  of  flowers. 

Yet  still  on  every  side  we  trace  the  hand 
Of  winter  in  the  land, 
Save  where  the  maple  reddens  on  the  lawn, 
Flushed  by  the  season's  dawn. 

But  many  gleams  and  shadows  needs  must  pass 
Along  the  budding  grass, 
And  weeks  go  by  before  the  enamored  South 
Shall  kiss  the  rose's  mouth. 

Still  there's  a  sense  of  blossoms  yet  unborn 
In  the  sweet  airs  of  morn; 
One  almost  looks  to  see  the  very  street 
Grow  purple  at  his  feet. 

At  times  a  fragrant  breeze  comes  floating  by, 
And  brings,  you  know  not  why, 
A  feeling  as  when  eager  crowds  await 
Before  a  palace  gate, 


213 

Some  wondrous  pageant;  and  you  scarce  would  start, 
If  from  some  beech's  heart 
A  blue-eyed  dryad,  stepping  forth,  should  say, 
"  Behold  me !     I  am  May  !  " 

HENRY  TIMROD. 


pa'thos,  sadness. 

a-glee',  joyful. 

en-am' ored,  filled  with  love. 


sense,  hint. 

pag'eant,  a  show. 

dry'ad,  a  fairy  living  in  a  tree. 


HENRY  TIMROD  (1829-67),  an  American  poet,  was  a  native  of 
South  Carolina.  He  is  one  of  a  number  of  talented  southern  writers 
who  made  the  Civil  War  the  theme  of  much  of  their  writing.  Many  of  his 
poems  were  about  the  War.    Some  of  them  are  very  musical. 


TO   THE    DANDELION 

Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the  way, 

Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 
First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 

Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride,  uphold, 
High  hearted  buccaneers,  o'erjoyed  that  they 
An  El  Dorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 
Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
May  match  in  wealth,  thou  art  more  dear  to  me       * 
Than  all  the  prouder  summer  blooms  may  be. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 

When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 

More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 


214 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 

Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  show, 

Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe. 

And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look, 

On  all  these  pages  of  God's  book. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


blithe'some,  joyous. 
buc"ca-neers/,  pirates. 
pri-me'val,  relating  to  early  times. 
cui-rassed',  wearing  a  breastplate. 


procTi-gal,  a  spendthrift. 
re-fleets',  sends  back. 
El  Do-ra'do,  any  region  of  fabulous 
wealth. 


HUNTING  THE    COUGAR    IN    MISSISSIPPI 


The  morning  after  my  arrival  at  the  squatter's  cabin,  I  joined 
him  while  he  threw  a  few  ears  of  corn  to  his  pigs.  As  he 
counted  the  animals,  he  told  me  that  for  some  weeks  their 
number  had  been  greatly  diminished  by  the  ravages  committed 
upon  them  by  a  large  panther. 

By.  this  name  the  cougar  is  designated  in  America.  The 
ravenous  animal  now  and  then  carried  off  one  of  his  calves, 
and  on  several  occasions  had  robbed  him  of  a  deer.  Delighted 
by  his  description  of  the  "  painter,"  as  he  sometimes  called  it, 
I  offered  to  assist  him  in  destroying  the  enemy. 

He  was  highly  pleased,  but  assured  me  that  unless  some  of 
his  neighbors  would  join  us  with  their  dogs,  the  attempt  would 
prove  fruitless.  Soon  afterward,  mounting  a  horse,  he  went 
off  to  his  neighbors,  several  of  whom  lived  at  a  distance  of 
some  miles,  and  appointed  a  day  of  meeting. 

The  hunters,  accordingly,  one  fine  morning  made  their  ap- 


215 

pearance  at  the  door  of  the  cabin.  They  were  five  in  number, 
and  fully  equipped  for  the  chase.  Few  words  were  uttered  by 
the  party  until  we  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  There 
it  was  agreed  that  all  should  scatter  and  seek  for  the  fresh 
track  of  the  "  painter/'  it  being  previously  settled  that  the  dis- 
coverer should  blow  his  horn,  and  remain  on  the  spot  until 
the  rest  should  join  him. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  the  sound  of  the  horn  was  clearly 
heard,  and,  sticking  close  to  the  squatter,  off  we  went  through 
thick  woods,  guided  only  by  the  now  and  then  repeated  call  of 
the  distant  huntsmen.  We  soon  reached  the  spot,  and  in  a 
short  time  the  rest  of  the  party  came  up. 

The  best  dog  was  sent  forward  to  track  the  cougar,  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  whole  pack  were  observed  diligently  trail- 
ing, and  bearing  in  their  course  for  the  interior  of  the  swamp. 
The  rifles  were  immediately  put  in  trim,  and  the  party  followed 
the  dogs,  at  separate  distances,  but  in  sight  of  each  other,  deter- 
mined to  shoot  at  no  game  but  the  panther. 

The  dogs  soon  began  to  mouth,  and  suddenly  quickened 
their  pace.  Putting  our  horses  to  a  gentle  gallop,  we  followed 
them,  guided  by  their  voices.  All  of  a  sudden,  the  mode  of 
barking  became  altered,  and  the  squatter  urging  me  to  push  on, 
told  me  that  the  beast  was  treed. 

By  this  he  meant  that  it  had  got  upon  some  low  branch  of 
a  large  tree  to  rest  a  few  moments.  Should  we  not  succeed  in 
shooting  him  when  thus  situated,  we  might  expect  a  long  chase 
of  it.  As  we  approached  the  spot,  we  all  united  in  a  body, 
but  on  seeing  the  dogs  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  separated 
again,  and  galloped  off  to  surround  it. 

Each  hunter  now  moved  with  caution,  holding  his  gun  ready, 
and  allowing  the  bridle  to  dangle  on  the  neck  of  his  horse,  as 


216 

it  advanced  slowly  towards  the  dogs.  A  shot  from  one  of  the 
party  was  heard,  on  which  the  panther  was  seen  to  leap  to  the 
ground,  and  bound  off.  The  dogs  set  off  in  pursuit  with  great 
eagerness  and  a  deafening  cry. 

The  hunter  that  had  fired  came  up  and  said  that  his  ball  had 
hit  the  monster,  and  had  probably  broken  one  of  his  fore-legs 


THE    COUGAR   " TREED  " 


near  the  shoulder,  the  only  place  at  which  he  could  aim.  The 
dogs  proceeded  at  such  a  rate  that  we  now  put  spurs  to  our 
horses  and  galloped  towards  the  center  of  the  swamp. 

These  determined  hunters  knew  that  the  cougar  being 
wounded,  would  shortly  ascend  another  tree,  where  in  all 
probability  he  would  remain  for  a  considerable  time,  and  that 
it  would  be  easy  to  follow  the  track  of  the  dogs.     We  dis- 


217 

mounted,  took  off  the  saddles  and  bridles,  set  the  bells  attached 
to  the  horses'  necks  at  liberty  to  jingle,  hoppled  the  animals, 
and  left  them  to  shift  for  themselves. 

After  marching  for  a  couple  of  hours,  we  again  heard  the 
dogs.  Each  of  us  pressed  forward,  elated  at  the  thought  of 
terminating  the  career  of  the  cougar.  Some  of  the  dogs  were 
heard  whining,  although  the  greater  number  barked  ve- 
hemently. We  felt  assured  that  the  cougar  was  treed,  and 
that  he  would  rest  for  some  time  to  recover  from  his  fatigue. 

As  we  came  up  to  the  dogs,  we  discovered  the  ferocious  ani- 
mal lying  across  a  large  branch,  close  to  the  trunk  of  a  cotton- 
wood  tree.  His  broad  breast  lay  toward  us;  his  eyes  were 
at  one  time  bent  on  us  and  again  on  the  dogs  beneath  and 
around  him.  One  of  his  fore-legs  hung  loosely  by  his  side, 
and  he  lay  crouched,  with  his  ears  lowered  close  to  his  head, 
as  if  he  thought  that  he  might  remain  undiscovered. 

Three  balls  were  fired  at  him,  at  a  given  signal,  on  which  he 
sprang  a  few  feet  from  the  branch,  and  tumbled  headlong  to 
the  ground.  Attacked  on  all  sides  by  the  enraged  dogs,  the 
infuriated  cougar  fought  with  desperate  valor;  but  the  squat- 
ter, advancing  in  front  of  the  party,  and  almost  in  the  midst 
of  the  dogs,  shot  him  immediately  behind  and  beneath  the 
left  shoulder.     In  another  moment  the  cougar  lay  dead. 

The  sun  was  now  sinking  in  the  west.  Two  of  the  hunters 
separated  from  the  rest  to  procure  venison,  whilst  the  squat- 
ter's sons  went  home  to  be  ready  to  feed  the  pigs  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  rest  of  the  party  agreed  to  camp  on  the  spot.  The 
cougar  was  despoiled  of  its  skin,  and  its  body  left  ^o  the  hungry 
dogs. 

Whilst  engaged  in  preparing  our  camp,  we  heard  the  report 
of  a  gun,  and  soon  after  one  of  our  hunters  returned  with  a 


218 

small  deer.  A  fire  was  lighted,  and  each  hunter  brought  out 
his  pone  of  bread.  The  deer  was  skinned  in  a  trice,  and  slices 
placed  on  sticks  before  the  fire.  These  materials  afforded  us 
an  excellent  meal,  and  as  the  night  grew  dark,  stories  and 
songs  went  round,  until  fatigued,  we  lay  down,  close  under  the 
smoke  of  the  fire,  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

At  daybreak  we  left  our  camp,  the  squatter  bearing  on  his 
shoulder  the  skin  of  the  late  destroyer  of  his  stock,  and  retraced 
our  steps  until  we  found  our  horses,  which  had  not  strayed  far 
from  the  place  where  we  had  left  them.  These  we  saddled,  and 
jogging  along  in  a  direct  course,  we  soon  arrived  at  my  host's 
cabin. 

JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON. 


squat'ter,  settler  in  a  new  country. 
e-quipped',  fitted  out. 
in-te'ri-or,  the  inside. 
al'tered,  changed, 
dan'gle,  to  hang  loosely. 


ter'mi-na"ting,  coming  to  an  end. 
pro-cure',  to  obtain. 
fa-tigued\  tired. 
ve'he-ment-ly,  with  fury;  loudly. 
e-la'ted,  delighted;  overjoyed. 


JOHN  JAMES  AUDUBON  (1780-1851),  a  famous  American  bird-lover, 
was  born  in  New  Orleans,  La.  He  was  educated  in  France,  where  he 
studied  under  the  great  painter,  David.  After  his  return  to  America  he 
lived  in  different  parts  of  the  United  States.  He  liked  to  devote  most  of 
his  time  to  long  tramps  in  the  woods  and  the  fields,  studying  the  habits  of 
birds;  By  and  by  he  became  celebrated  for  his  drawings  of  birds  and  his 
writings  about  birds.  He  not  only  had  rare  skill  in  drawing  his  feathered 
friends,  but  an  admirable  talent  for  describing  them  in  entertaining  lan- 
guage. His  chief  work,  "Birds  of  America,"  was  published  by  subscrip- 
tion, the  price  of  each  copy  being  $1,000.  The  above  selection  is  printed 
here  with  the  permission  of  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

Write  a  description  of  some  bird  with  which  you  are  familiar.  What  is 
its  size?    Color?     What  are  its  habits?    Describe  its  nest  and  eggs. 


Write  a  story  that  you  have  heard  or  read  of  pioneer  days  in  America, 


219 

A   NEW    ENGLAND    BOYHOOD 
I.    The  Swimming  School 

Joy,  joy,  joy!  Of  a  hot  summer  day  in  June,  when  I  was 
nine  years  old,  I  was  asked  how  I  would  like  to  learn  to  swim. 
Little  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  boy  who  reads  this  what  my 
answer  was.  I  and  my  elder  brother,  who  was  twelve,  were  to 
be  permitted  to  go  to  the  swimming  school.  This  was  joy 
enough  to  have  that  year  marked  with  red  in  our  history. 

The  swimming  school  was  in  water  that  flowed  where  Brim- 
mer Street  [Boston]  and  the  houses  behind  it  are  now  built.  It 
was  just  such  a  building  as  the  floating  baths  are  now,  which 
the  city  maintains,  but  it  inclosed  a  much  larger  space.  Of 
this  space  a  part  had  a  floor  so  that  the  water  flowed  through; 
the  depth  was  about  iive  feet.  To  little  boys  like  me  it 
made  little  difference  that  there  was  this  floor,  for  we  could 
be  as  easily  drowned  in  five  feet  of  water  as  we  could  in 
fifteen. 

As  soon  as  you  were  dressed  and  ready — and  this  meant  in 
about  one  minute — you  took  your  turn  to  be  taught.  A  belt 
was  put  around  you  under  the  arms;  to  this  belt  a  rope  was 
attached,  and  you  were  told  to  jump  in.  You  jumped  in  and 
went  down  as  far  as  gravity  chose  to  take  you,  and  were  then 
pulled  up  by  the  rope.  The  rope  was  then  attached  to  the  end 
of  a  long  belt,  and  you  were  swung  out  upon  the  surface  of 
the  water.     Then  began  the  instruction. 

"  O-n-e ! — two,  three !  "  the  last  two  words  were  spoken  with 
great  rapidity — "  one  "  spoken  very  slowly.  This  meant  that 
the  knees  and  feet  were  to  be  drawn  up  very  slowly,  but  were 


220 

to  be  dashed  out  very  quickly,  and  then  the  heels  brought 
together  as  quickly. 

Boys  who  were  well  built  for  it  and  who  were  quick,  learned 
to  swim  in  two  or  three  lessons.  Slender  boys  and  little  boys 
who  had  not  much  muscular  force — and  such  was  I — were  a 
whole  summer  before  they  could  be  trusted  without  the  rope. 
But  the  training  was  excellent,  and  from  the  end  of  that  year  till 
now  I  have  been  entirely  at  home  in  the  water. 

I  think  now  that  scientific  and  systematic  training  in  swim- 
ming is  a  very  important  part  of  public  instruction,  and  I  wish 
we  could  see  it  introduced  everywhere  where  there  is  responsible 
oversight  of  boys  at  school. 


II.    Out  of  Doors 

For  the  half-holidays  that  were  not  otherwise  provided  for, 
my  brother  and  I  took  care  by  using  "  the  means  which  God 
and  nature  put  into  our  hands."  That  is  to  say,  we  walked  out 
of  town  to  such  woodland  generally  as  we  had  not  explored  be- 
fore, until  we  were  personally  acquainted  with  the  whole,  coun- 
try for  a  circle  of  fully  five  miles'  radius  around  the  State 
House. 

We  always  kept  for  such  expeditions  what  were  known  as 
phosphorus-boxes,  which  were  the  first  steps  in  the  progress 
that  has  put  the  tinder-boxes  of  that  day  entirely  out  of  sight. 
Most  of  the  young  people  of  the  present  day  have  not  so  much 
as  seen  a  tinder-box,  and  I  do  not  know  where  I  could  go  to 
buy  one.  But,  in  the  working  of  the  household,  the  tinder-box 
was  the  one  resource  for  getting  a  light. 

We  boys,  however,  with  the  lavishness  of  boys,  used  to  buy 


221 

at  the  apothecary's  phosphorus-boxes,  which  were  then  coming 
in.  We  had  to  pay  twenty-five  cents  for  one  such  box.  These 
boxes  were  made  in  Germany;  they  were  of  red  paper,  little 
cylinders  about  four  inches  high  and  an  inch  in  diameter. 
You  could  carry  one,  and  were  meant  to  carry  it,  in  your  breast 
pocket. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  box  was  a  little  bottle,  which  contained 
asbestos  soaked  with  sulphuric  acid,  and  in  the  top  were  about 
a  hundred  matches,  made,  I  think,  from  chlorate  of  potash. 
One  of  these  you  put  into  the  bottle  and  pulled  it  out  aflame. 
We  never  should  have  thought  of  taking  one  of  these  walks 
without  a  phosphorus-box. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  woodland  sought,  we  invariably  made 
a  little  fire.  We  never  cooked  anything  that  I  remember,  but 
this  love  of  fire  is  one  of  the  early  barbarisms  of  the  human 
race  which  dies  out  latest.  I  suppose  if  it  had  been,  the 
middle  of  the  hottest  day  in  August  we  should  have  made  a 
fire. 

So  soon  as  the  morning  session  of  school  was  over,  in  the 
summer  or  autumn  months,  if  it  were  a  half-holiday,  we  would 
start  on  one  of  these  rambles.  Sometimes,  if  the  walk  was  not 
to  a  great  distance,  we  invited,  or  permitted,  the  two  sisters  to 
come  with  us.  We  had  a  tin  box  for  plants,  and  always  brought 
home  what  seemed  new  or  pretty. 

When,  in  1833,  the  Worcester  Railroad  was  opened,  this 
walking  gave  way,  for  a  family  as  largely  interested  in  that 
railroad  as  we  were,  to  excursions  out  of  town  to  the  point 
where  the  walk  was  to  begin.  The  line  to  West  Newton  was 
opened  to  the  public  on  the  7th  of  April,  1833,  but  from  the 
day  when  the  Meteor,  which  was  the  first  locomotive  engine 
in  New  England,  ran  on  her  trial  trip,  we  two  boys  were 


222 

generally  present  at  the  railroad,  on  every  half-holiday,  to 
take  our  chances  for  a  ride  out  upon  one  of  the  experimental 
trips. 

We  knew  the  engine-drivers  and  the  men  who  were  not  yet 
called  conductors,  and  they  knew  us.  My  father  was  the  presi- 
dent of  the  road,  and  we  thought  we  did  pretty  much  as  we 
chose.  The  engine-drivers  would  let  us  ride  with  them  on  the 
engine,  and  I,  for  one,  got  my  first  lessons  in  the  business  of 
driving  an  engine  on  these  excursions.  But  as  soon  as  the  road 
was  open  to  passengers,  these  rides  on  the  engine  dropped  off, 
perhaps  were  prohibited.  Still  we  went  to  Newton  in  the  train 
as  often  as  we  could,  and  afterwards  to  Needham. 

There  were  varied  cars  in  those  days,  some  of  them  open,  like 
our  open  horse-cars  of  to-day,  and  all  of  them  entered  from  the 
side,  as  in  England  up  to  the  present  time.  After  this  date 
our  •  long  walks  out  of  town  naturally  ceased.  Nothing  was 
more  common  in  our  household  than  for  the  whole  family  to  go 
out  to  Brighton  or  to  Newton,  and,  with  babies  and  all,  to 
establish  ourselves  in  some  grove,  where  we  spent  the  afternoon 
very  much  as  God  meant  we  should  spend  it,  I  suppose ;  return- 
ing late  in  the  evening  with  such  spoils  of  wild  flowers  as  the 
season  permitted. 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


grav'i-ty,  the  attraction  of  the 
earth. 

gci"en-tif'ic,  according  to  rule  or 
method. 

sys"te-mat'ic,  following  a  fixed 
plan. 

ra'di-us,  the  distance  from  the 
center  of  a  circle  to  its  circum- 
ference. 


phos'pho-rus,  a  substance  burning 

easily. 
tin'der,  something  used  for  kindling 

at  a  spark. 
re-source',  means. 
lav'ish-ness,  wastefulness. 
as-bes'tos,  a  fibrous  mineral  which 

fire  does  not  burn. 
sul-phur'ic,  made  from  sulphur. 


223 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE,  an  American  author,  editor,  and  clergy- 
man, was  born  in  Boston  in  1822.  His  father  was  a  nephew  of  Nathan 
Hale,  the  American  patriot  who  was  executed  as  a  spy  by  the  British  in 
1776.  Among  Dr.  Hale's  works  are  "The  Man  Without  a  Country," 
"  Ninety  Days'  Worth  of  Europe,"  "  Philip  Nolan's  Friends, "and  a  number 
of  boys'  books,  one  of  which  is  "New  England  Boyhood,"  from  which 
these  selections  are  taken,  by  courtesy  of  Little,  Brown  and  Company. 


Write  an  account  of  some  important  invention. 

1.  Who  was  the  inventor t    Where  did  he  live?    How  did  he  happen  to 
think  of  making  it?    How  did  he  improve  his  first  plans? 

2.  What  was  used  in  place  of  this  invention  before  it  was  made?    What 
were  the  advantages  of  the  invention?    How  has  it  been  improved? 

3.  How  important  is  its  present  use?     What  would  be  some  of  the  dis- 
advantages if  we  had  to  do  without  it  now? 

Select  a  subject  from  this  list: 


Locomotive 

Stove 

Pump 

Parlor  Match 

Sewing-machine 

Mowing-machine 

Thresher 

Street-car 

Railway-car 

Cotton  Gin 


Steamboat 
Street  Light 
Gun 

Typewriter 
Telephone 
Telegraph 
Printing-press 
Window  Pane 
'Flour  Mill 
Watch 


Find  and  write  out  the  most  important  facts  in  the  life  of  one  of  these  men: 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  Eli  Whitney 

James  Watt  Samuel  F.  B.  Morse 

George  Stephenson  Cyrus  W.  Field 

Thomas  A.  Edison 
George  Westinghouse 
William  Marconi 


Johann  Gutenberg 
Benjamin  Franklin 
Robert  Fulton 


Study  the  first  paragraph  on  page  205.  Break  this  paragraph  into  simple 
sentences.  Combine  some  of  the  simple  sentences  into  complex  and  compound 
sentences. 


224 


TO    AN    ORIOLE 

How  falls  it,  Oriole,  thou  hast  come  to  fly 

In  southern  splendor  through  our  northern  sky? 

In  some  hlithe  moment  was  it  nature's  choice 

To  dower  a  scrap  of  sunset  with  a  voice? 

Or  did  some  orange  lily,  flecked  with  black, 

In  a  forgotten  garden,  ages  back, 

Yearning  to  heaven  until  its  wish  was  heard, 

Desire  unspeakably  to  be  a  bird  ? 

EDGAR  FAWCETT. 


EDGAR  FAWCETT  (1847-1904),  an  American  author,  was  born  in 
New  York  City.  He  has  written  novels,  poems  and  plays.  Some  of  his 
writings  in  verse  have  been  published  under  the  titles,  "Song  and  Story," 
"  Romance  and  Revery,"  "  Songs  of  Doubt  and  Dream."  His  best  known 
novels  are  "An  Ambitious  Woman"  and  "The  House  at  High  Bridge." 


O  flower-de-luce,  bloom  on,   and  let  the  river 

Linger  to  kiss  thy  feet ! 
O  flower  of  song,  bloom  on,  and  make  forever 

The  world  more  fair  and  sweet. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW  (Flower-de-Luce). 


The  glory  has  passed  from  the  goldenrod's  plume, 
The  purple-hued  asters  still  linger  in  bloom: 
The  birch  is  bright  yellow,  the  sumachs  are  red, 
The  maples  like  torches  aflame  overhead. 

OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 


225 


COACHING    IN    BRITAIN 


Monday  was  another  thoroug 
Thames,  which  glistened  in  the 
stately  swans.  Windsor 
its  majesty,  vivified  by  the 
tered  in  the  breeze.  The 
crowded  with  nice-looking 
passed. 

Many     of     us     walked 
hill    and    far    into    the 
vance  of  the  coach,  and 
that  a  fine   day  in  the 
land    was    perfection 


hly  English  day.  The  silver 
sun,  was  enlivened  by  many 
Castle  towered  in  all 
bright  flag  that  flut- 
grounds  of  Eton  were 
English    boys    as    we 

down  the  steep 
country  in  ad- 
felt  once  more 
south  of  Eng- 
indeed. 


THE  CHURCHYARD  AT  STOKE  POGIS,  THE  SCENE  OF  GRAY  S   ELEGY 


226 

The  sun  here  reminds  one  of  the  cup  that  cheers,  but  does 
not  inebriate :  its  rays  cheer,  but  never  scorch.  You  could  not 
tell  whether,  if  there  had  to  be  any  change,  you  would  prefer 
it  to  be  a  shade  cooler  or  a  shade  warmer. 

Stoke  Pogis  is  a  few  miles  out  of  our  direct  road,  but  who 
would  miss  that,  even  were  the  detour  double  what  the  ord- 
nance survey  makes  it?  Besides,  had  not  a  dear  friend,  a  stay- 
at-home,  told  us  that  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  her  life  was 
that  spent  in  making  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  the  poet 
from  this  very  Windsor? 

Gray's  was  the  first  shrine  at  which  we  stopped  to  worship, 
and  the  beauty,  the  stillness,  the  peace,  of  that  low,  quaint, 
ivy-covered  church,  and  its  old-fashioned  graveyard,  sank  into 
our  hearts.  Surely  no  one  could  revive  memories  more  sweetly 
English  then  he  who  gave  us  the  "  Elegy."  Some  lines,  and  even 
stanzas  of  that  gem,  will  endure,  it  may  safely  be  predicted, 
as  long  as  anything  English  does,  and  that  is  saying  much. 

Just  such  a  churchyard  we  found,  too,  as  seemed  suited  to 
the  ode.  Gray  is  fortunate  in  his  resting-place.  Earth  has  no 
prettier,  calmer  spot  to  give  her  child  than  this.  It  is  the  very 
ideal  God's  acre.  The  little  church!  How  fine  is  Gray's  in- 
scription upon  his  mother's  tomb! 

"Dorothy  Gray. 
The  careful,  tender  mother  of  many  children, 
one  of  whom  alone  had  the  misfortune  to 
survive  her." 

The  touch  in  the  last  words,  "  misfortune  to  survive  her!  " 
Upon  Gray's  own  tomb  there  is  inscribed: 

"One  noon  I  missed  him  on  the  accustomed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree; 
Another  came,  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he." 


227 

One  perfect  gem  outweighs  a  thousand  mediocre  perform- 
ances, and  makes  its  creator  immortal.  The  world  has  not  a 
second  Gray's  "  Elegy "  among  all  its  treasures.  Nor  is  it 
likely  to  have. 

The  manor  house  of  Stoke  Pogis,  which  took  its  name  from 
a  marriage  away  back  in  the  thirteenth  century,  between  a 
member  of  the  Pogis  family  and  an  heiress,  Amicia  de  Stoke, 
furnished  the  subject  of  Gray's  "  Long  Story,"  a  poem  known 
now  only  to  the  curious  student  of  English  Literature.  How 
fortunate  for  the  world  that  the  poet  did  not  let  his  reputation 
rest  upon  it!   s 

The  old  house,  built  in  the  time  of  good  Queen  Bess  on  an 
older  foundation,  is  still  more  noted  as  the  home  of  Sir  Edward 
Coke,  the  famous  Lord  Justice  and  the  rival  of  Bacon.  In 
1601  Coke  entertained  the  Virgin  Queen  at  Stoke  Pogis  in  a 
manner  befitting  the  royal  dignity  and  the  length  of  his  own 
purse.  Among  the  presents  which  her  majesty  graciously 
deigned  to  accept  at  the  hands  of  her  subject  on  the  occasion 
was  jewelry  valued  at  a  thousand  pounds,  a  large  sum  in  those 
days. 

Several  years  after  the  death  of  Coke,  Stoke  Pogis  was  for 
a  short  time  the  place  of  confinement  of  Charles  I,  who  could 
see  from  its  windows  the  towers  of  Windsor  Castle,  which  he 
was  never  again  to  enter  alive. 

When  Charles  II  came  to  his  own  again,  the  possessor  of 
the  mansion  was  knighted.  He  became  so  devoted  in  his  affec- 
tion for  the  Stuarts,  that  when  in  after  time  King  William 
desired  to  visit  Stoke  Pogis  to  see  a  place  so  rich  in  historical 
associations,  the  old  knight  would  not  listen  to  it. 

In  vain  did  his  wife  intercede:  he  declared  that  the  usurper 
should  not  cross  his  threshold,  and  he  kept  his  word.     So  it 


228 

came  to  be  said  that  Stoke  Pogis  had  entertained  one  sovereign, 
been  the  prison  of  another,  and  refused  admission  to  a  third. 

In  still  later  times  the  old  place  came  into  possession  of  the 
Penn  family,  the  heirs  of  our  William  Penn  of  Pennsylvania. 
It  was  by  one  of  them,  John  Penn,  that  the  cenotaph  to  Gray 
was  erected,  for  the  poet,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  laid  in 
his  mother's  tomb.  The  same  Penn  pulled  down  much  of  the 
old  house  and  rebuilt  it  as  it  is  to-day. 

Our  luncheon  was  to  be  upon  the  banks  of  the  Thames  to- 
day, the  Old  Swan  Inn,  where  the  stone  bridge  crosses  the 
stream,  being  our  base  of  supplies.  The  rugs  were  laid  under 
a  chestnut  tree,  and  our  first  picnic  luncheon  spread  on  the 
buttercups  and  daisies. 

Swallows  skimmed  the  water,  bees  hummed  above  us — but 
stop!  what's  that,  and  where?  Our  first  skylark  singing  at 
heaven's  gate! 

All  who  heard  this  never-to-be-forgotten  song  for  the  first 
time  were  up  and  on  their  feet  in  an  instant.  But  the  tiny 
songster,  which  was  then  filling  the  azure  vault  with  music,  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen. 

It's  worth  an  Atlantic  voyage  to  hear  a  skylark  for  the  first 
time.  The  flood  of  song  poured  forth  as  we  stood  wrapt  await- 
ing the  descent  of  the  messenger  from  heaven.  At  last  a  small 
black  speck  came  into  sight.  He  is  so  little  to  see — so  great 
to  hear! 

ANDREW  CARNEGIE  (Abridged). 


devour',  a  round-about  way. 
ode,  a  short  poem. 
viv'i-fied,  enlivened. 
in-e'bri-ate,  to  intoxicate. 
me'di-o"cre,  of  ordinary  quality. 


deigned,     condescended ;     stooped 

to. 
in-ter-cede',  to  speak  for. 
cen'o-taph,  a  monument  erected  to 

a  person  buried  elsewhere. 


229 

ANDREW  CARNEGIE  came  to  America  from  Scotland  in  1848, 
when  he  was  eleven  years  of  age.  His  first  position  was  in  a  cotton  factory 
in  Allegheny,  Pa.  Then  he  became  a  telegraph  messenger,  studied  teleg- 
raphy, and  went  into  the  employ  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad.  He 
attended  to  business,  and  his  advancement  was  steady.  After  the  war  he 
established  a  great  iron  industry  at  Pittsburg.  He  is  the  author  of 
"An  American  Four-in-Hand  in  Britain,"  "Round  the  World/'  and 
"Democracy  Triumphant." 

Through  his  gifts  to  libraries,  universities,  colleges  and  pension  funds 
in  the  United  States  and  Great  Britain,  he  has  justly  earned  the  title  of 
the  greatest  benefactor  of  the  age. 

"  Coaching  in  Britain"  is  published  with  the  permission  of  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons. 


ELEGY   WRITTEN    IN   A   COUNTRY   CHURCHYARD 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 


230 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 

The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care: 

"No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  Poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour. 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

THOMAS  GRAY  (Selected). 


231 


cur'f  ew,  a  bell  rung  at  evening. 
soremn,  grave;  serious. 
ham'let,  a  small  village. 
clar'i-on,  a  call  like  the  sound  of 

a  trumpet. 
joc'und,  gayly;  merrily. 
dis-dain'ful,  scornful. 


glebe,  the  sod. 

her'ald-ry,   the   signs  that   denote 

rank. 
se-ques'ter-ed,  quiet  and  apart  from 

the  busy  world, 
an'nals,  history. 
in-ev'i-ta-ble,  not  to  be  avoided. 


THOMAS  GRAY  (1716-71)  was  an  English  poet.  He  was  educated 
at  Cambridge  and  afterward  was  made  a  member  of  the  Cambridge  faculty. 
The  "Elegy  Written  in  a  Country  Churchyard"  is  his  best  and  most 
popular  poem.  Gray  ranks  high  among  English  authors  as  poet,  prose 
writer,  and  scholar. 


THE   GREAT    PYRAMID 

The  first  glimpse  that  most  travelers  now  get  of  the  Pyramids 
is  from  the  window  of  the  railway  carriage  as  they  come  from 
Alexandria;  and  it  is  not.  impressive.  (It  does  not  take  one's 
breath  away.)  The  well-known  triangular  forms  look  small 
and  shadowy,  and  are  too  familiar  to  be  in  any  way  startling. 
It  is  only  in  approaching  them,  and  observing  how  they  grow 
with  every  foot  of  the  road,  that  one  begins  to  feel  that  they  are 
not  so  familiar  after  all. 

When  at  last  the  edge  of  the  desert  is  reached,  and  the  long 
sand-slope  climbed,  and  the  rocky  platform  gained,  and  the 
Great  Pyramid  in  all  its  unexpected  bulk  and  majesty  towers 
close  above  one's  head,  the  effect  is  as  sudden  as  it  is  overwhelm- 
ing. It  shuts  out  the  sky  and  the  horizon.  It  shuts  out  all  the 
other  pyramids.  It  shuts  out  everything  but  the  sense  of  awe 
and  wonder. 


232 


&a 


wm 


THE    GREAT    PYRAMID 


Now,  too,  one  discovers  that  it  was  with  the  forms  of  the 
Pyramids,  and  only  their  forms,  that  one  had  been  acquainted 

all  these  years  past. 
Of  their  surface, 
their  color,  their  rel- 
ative position,  their 
number,  one  had 
hitherto  no  definite 
idea. 

Even  the  Great 
Pyramid  puzzles  us 
with  an  unexpected 
sense  of  unlikeness. 
We  all  know  that  it 
was  stripped  of  its 
outer  blocks  some  five  hundred  years  ago  to  build  Arab  mosques 
and  palaces.  Nevertheless,  the  rugged,  rock-like  aspect  of  that 
giant  stair-case  takes  us  by  surprise.  Nor  does  it  look  like  a 
partial  ruin.  It  looks  as  though  it  had  been  left  unfinished, 
and  the  workmen  might  be  coming  back  to-morrow. 

The  color  again  is  a  surprise.  Few  persons  can  be  aware  be- 
forehand of  the  rich  tawny  hue  that  Egyptian  limestone  as- 
sumes after  ages  of  exposure  to  the  blaze  of  an  Egyptian  sky. 
Seen  in  certain  lights,  the  Pyramids  look  like  piles  of  massy 
gold. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  realize,  however  imperfectly,  the  dura- 
tion of  six  or  seven  thousand  years.  The  Great  Pyramid,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  been  some  four  thousand  two  hundred 
and  odd  years  old  at  the  time  of  the  birth  of  Christ,  is 
now  in  its  seventh  millennium.  Suddenly  the  writer  became 
aware,    that   these    remote'  dates    had    never    presented    them- 


233 

selves  to  her  mind  until  this  moment  as  anything  but  abstract 
numerals. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  they  were  no  longer  figures,  but  years 
with  their  changes  of  season,  their  high  and  low  Niles,  their 
seed-times  and  harvests.  More  impressive  by  far  than  any  ar- 
ray of  figures  or  comparisons,  was  the  shadow  cast  by  the  Great 
Pyramid  as  the  sun  went  down. 

The  mighty  shadow,  sharp  and  distinct,  stretched  across  the 
stony  platform  of  the  desert  and  over  full  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  of  the  green  plain  below.  It  divided  the  sunlight  in  the 
upper  air;  and  it  darkened  the  space  that  it  covered  like  an 
eclipse. 

It  was  not  without  a  thrill  of  something  approaching  to  awe, 
that  one  remembered  how  this  self-same  Shadow  had  gone  on 
registering,  not  only  the  height  of  the  most  stupendous  gnomon 
ever  set  up  by  human  hands,  but  the  slow  passage,  day  by  day, 
of  more  than  sixty  centuries  of  the  world's  history. 

It  was  still  lengthening  over  the  landscape  as  we  went  down 
the  long  sand-slope  and  gained  the  carriage.  Some  six  or  eight 
Arabs  in  fluttering  white  garments  ran  on  ahead  to  bid  us  a 
last  good-by.  "  You  come  again !  "  said  they.  "  Good  Arab 
show  you  everything.     You  see  nothing  this  time." 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 


tri-an'gu-lar,  having  three  angles. 
mil-len'ni-um,  a  thousand  years. 
e-clipse',  a  covering  up,  as  an  eclipse 
of  the  moon. 


reg'is-ter-ing,  making  a  record  of. 
stu-pen'dous,  very  large. 
gno-mon,  a   structure  for  showing 
the  time  of  day. 


AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS  (1831-92)  was  an  English  author  and  traveler. 
She  has  written  many  novels,  some  histories  and  some  popular  books  for 
children.  Her  book,  "A  Thousand  Miles  Up  the  Nile,"  from  which  our 
selection  is  taken,  is  considered  a  remarkably  good  book  on  Egypt. 


234 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  QUEBEC 


The  sun  rose,  and  from  the  ramparts  of  Quebec,  the  aston- 
ished people  saw  the  plains  of  Abraham  glittering  with  arms, 
and  the  dark-red  lines  of  the  English  forming  in  array  of 

battle.  Breathless  messen- 
gers had  borne  the  evil  tid- 
ings to  Montcalm,  and  far 
and  near  his  wide  extended 
camp  resounded  with  the 
rolling  of  alarm  drums  and 
the  din  of  startled  prepara- 
tion. 

In  spite  of  all  difficulties 
he  had  trusted  to  hold  out 
till  the  winter  frosts  should 
drive  the  invaders  from  be- 
fore the  town;  when,  on 
that  disastrous  morning,  the 
news  of  their  successful 
temerity  fell  like  a  cannon 
shot  upon  his  ear.  Still  he 
assumed  a  tone  of  con- 
fidence. "  They  have  got  to 
the  weak  side  of  us  at  last,"  he  is  reported  to  have  said,  "  and  we 
must  crush  them  with  our  numbers." 

With  headlong  haste,  his  troops  were  pouring  over  the  bridge 
of  St.  Charles,  and  gathering  in  heavy  masses  under  the  western 
ramparts  of  the  town.  Could  numbers  give  assurance  of  suc- 
cess, their  triumph  would  have  been  secure;  for  five  French 


WOLFE  S    COVE,    THE   LANDING-PLACE   OF 
THE    BRITISH   ARMY 


235 

battalions  and  the  armed  colonial  peasantry  amounted  in  ail 
to  more  than  seven  thousand  five  hundred  men. 

Full  in  sight  before  them  stretched  the  long  thin  lines  of  the 
British  forces, — the  half -wild  Highlanders,  the  steady  soldiery 
of  England,  and  the  hardy  levies  of  the  provinces, — less  than 
five  thousand  in  number,  but  all  inured  to  battle,  and  strong  in 
the  full  assurance  of  success. 

Yet,  could  the  chiefs  of  that  gallant  army  have  pierced  the 
secrets  of  the  future,  could  they  have  foreseen  that  the  victory 
which  they  burned  to  achieve  would  have  robbed  England  of 
her  proudest  boast,  and  that  the  conquest  of  Canada  would  pave 
the  way  for  the  independence  of  America,  their  swords  would 
have  dropped  from  their  hands,  and  the  heroic  fire  have  gone 
Out  within  their  hearts. 

At  a  little  before  ten  o'clock,  the  British  could  see  that  Mont- 
calm was  preparing  to  advance,  and  in  a  few  moments,  all  his 
troops  appeared  in  rapid  motion.  They  came  on  in  three  divis- 
ions, shouting  after  the  manner  of  their  nation,  and  firing 
heavily  as  soon  as  they  came  within  range.  In  the  British 
ranks,  not  a  trigger  was  pulled,  not  a  soldier  stirred ;  and  their 
ominous  composure  seemed  to  damp  the  spirit  of  the  assailants. 

It  was  not  until  the  Erench  were  within  forty  yards  that 
the  fatal  word  was  given,  and  the  British  muskets  blazed  forth 
at  once  in  one  crashing  explosion.  Like  a  ship  at  full  career, 
arrested  with  sudden  ruin  on  a  sunken  rock,  the  ranks  of  Mont- 
calm staggered,  shivered,  and  broke  before  that  wasting  storm 
of  lead.  The  smoke,  rolling  along  the  field,  for  a  moment  shut 
out  the  view. 

When  the  white  wreaths  were  scattered  on  the  wind,  a 
wretched  spectacle  was  disclosed ;  men  and  officers  tumbled  in 
heaps,  battalions  resolved  into  a  mob,  order  and  obedience  gone ; 


236 

and  when  the  British  muskets  were  leveled  for  a  second  volley, 
the  masses  of  the  militia  were  seen  to  cower  and  shrink  with 
an  uncontrollable  panic.  For  a  few  minutes,  the  French  regu- 
lars stood  their  ground,  returning  a  sharp  and  not  ineffectual 
fire.  But  now,  echoing  cheer  on  cheer,  redoubling  volley  on 
volley,  the  British  troops  advanced  and  swept  the  field  before 
them. 

In  the  short  action  and  pursuit,  the  French  lost  fifteen 
hundred  men,  killed,  wounded,  and  taken.  Of  the  remainder, 
some  escaped  within  the  city,  and  others  fled  across  the  St. 
Charles  to  rejoin  their  comrades  who  had  been  left  to  guard 
•the  camp.  The  pursuers  were  recalled  by  sound  of  trumpet; 
the  broken  ranks  were  formed  afresh,  and  the  English  troops 
withdrawn  beyond  reach  of  the  cannon  of  Quebec. 

Yet  the  triumph  of  the  victors  was  mingled  with  sadness,  as 
the  tidings  went  from  rank  to  rank  that  Wolfe  had  fallen.  In 
the  heat  of  the  action,  as  he  advanced  at  the  head  of  the  grena- 
diers of  Louisburg,  a  bullet  shattered  his  wrist ;  but  he  wrapped 
his  handkerchief  about  the  wound,  and  showed  no  sign  of  pain. 

A  moment  more,  and  a  ball  pierced  his  side.  Still  he  pressed 
forward,  waving  his  sword  and  cheering  his  soldiers  to  the 
attack,  when  a  third  shot  lodged  deep  within  his  breast.  He 
paused,  reeled,  and  staggering  to  one  side,  fell  to  the  earth.  He 
was  borne  to  the  rear  and  laid  softly  on  the  grass.  They  asked 
if  he  would  have  a  surgeon ;  but  he  shook  his  head  and  answered 
that  all  was  over  with  him.  His  eyes  closed  with  the  torpor  of 
approaching  death,  and  those  around  him  sustained  his  faint- 
ing form. 

Yet  they  could  not  withhold  their  gaze  from  the  wild  turmoil 
before  them,  and  the  charging  ranks  of  their  companions  rush- 
ing through  fire  and  smoke.     "  See  how  they  run,"  one  of  the 


238 

officers  exclaimed,  as  the  Trench  fled  in  confusion  before  the 
leveled  bayonets. 

"  Who  run  ?  "  demanded  Wolfe,  opening  his  eyes  like  a  man 
aroused  from  sleep.  "  The  enemy,  sir  !  "  was  the  reply ;  "  they 
give  way  everywhere."  "  Then,"  said  the  dying  general,  "  tell 
Colonel  Burton  to  march  Webb's  regiment  down  to  St.  Charles 
River,  to  cut  off  their  retreat  from  the  bridge.  Now,  God 
be  praised,  I  will  die  in  peace,"  he  muttered;  and  turning  on 
his  side,  he  calmly  breathed  his  last. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  fell  his  great  adversary,  Mont- 
calm, as  he  strove,  with  vain  bravery,  to  rally  his  shattered 
ranks.  Struck  down  with  a  mortal  wound,  he  was  placed  upon 
a  litter  and  borne  to  the  General  Hospital  on  the  banks  of  the 
St.  Charles.     The  surgeons  told  him  that  he  could  not  recover. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  was  his  calm  reply.  He  then  asked  how 
long  he  might  survive,  and  was  told  that  he  had  not  many 
hours  remaining.  "  So  much  the  better,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  happy 
that  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  surrender  of  Quebec." 

Officers  from  the  garrison  came  to  his  bedside  to  ask  his 
orders  and  instructions.  "  I  will  give  no  more  orders,"  replied 
the  defeated  soldier ;  "  I  have  much  business  that  must  be 
attended  to,  of  greater  moment  than  your  ruined  garrison  and 
this  wretched  country.  My  time  is  very  short;  therefore,  pray 
leave  me." 

The  officers  withdrew,  and  none  remained  in  the  chamber  but 
his  confessor  and  the  Bishop  of  Quebec.  To  the  last  he  expressed 
his  contempt  for  his  own  mutinous  and  half-famished  troops, 
and  his  admiration  for  the  disciplined  valor  of  his  opponents. 
He  died  before  midnight,  and  was  buried  at  his  own  desire  in 
a  cavity  of  the  earth  formed  by  the  bursting  of  a  bombshell. 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN  (Slightly  Abridged}. 


239 


in-va'ders,  those  who  forcibly  enter. 
bat-tal'ions,  bodies  of  troops. 
in-ured',  used  to. 
a-chieve',  to  accomplish, 
as-sail'ants,  those  who  attack. 
in"ef-fec'tu-al,  without  result. 
om'i-nous,  foreboding  evil. 


gren"a-diers',  a  company  of  soldiers 
serving  in  a  battalion. 

tor'por,  sleepiness. 

bay'o-net,  a  blade  attached  to  the 
end  of  a  musket. 

mu'ti-nous,  disobedient  to  superior 
officers. 


FRANCIS  PARKMAN  (1823-93),  an  American  historian,  was  born 
in  Boston.  His  historical  works  include  "The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac," 
— from  which  this  story  is  taken, — "Pioneers  of  France  in  the  New 
Wor  d,"  "Discovery  of  the  Great  West/'  and  "Montcalm  and  Wolfe." 
He  is  an  entertaining  writer,  and  holds  a  high  place  in  American  literature. 


SNOW-BOUND 

Unwarmed  by  any  sunset  light 
The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 
A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm 
And  whirl-dance  of  the  blinding  storm, 
As  zigzag,  wavering  to  and  fro, 
Crossed  and  recrossed  the  winged  snow: 
And  ere  the  early  bedtime  came 
The  white  drift  piled  the  window-frame, 
And  through  the  glass  the  clothes-line  posts 
Looked  in  like  tall  and  sheeted  ghosts. 

So  all  night  long  the  storm  roared  on : 
The  morning  broke  without  a  sun; 
In  tiny  spherule  traced  with  lines 
Of  Nature's  geometric  signs, 


240 

In  starry  flake,  and  pellicle, 

All  day  the  hoary  meteor  fell; 

And,  when  the  second  morning  shone, 

We  looked  upon  a  world  unknown, 

On  nothing  we  could  call  our  own. 

Around  the  glistening  wonder  bent 

The  blue  walls  of  the  firmament, 

No  cloud  above,  no  earth  below — 

A  universe  of  sky  and  snow ! 

The  old  familiar  sights  of  ours 

Took  marvelous  shapes ;  strange  domes  and  towers 

Rose  up  where  sty  or  corn-crib  stood, 

Or  garden-wall,  or  belt  of  wood; 

A  smooth  white  mound  the  brush-pile  showed, 

A  fenceless  drift  what  once  was  road; 

The  bridle-post  an  old  man  sat 

With  loose-flung  coat  and  high  cocked  hat; 

The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof ; 

And  even  the  long  sweep,  high  aloof, 

In  its  slant  splendor,  seemed  to  tell 

Of  Pisa's  leaning  miracle. 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER  (Selected) 


spher'ule,  a  little  sphere. 
ge^o-met'ric,  relating  to   the  lines 
and  forms  of  geometry. 


pel'li-cle,  a  filmy  substance. 
fir'ma-ment,  the  sky. 
un'i-verse,  the  entire  creation. 


Write  the  story  of  a  storm  that  you  have  watched. 

Where  was  it?     What  kind  of  storm  was  it? 

How  did  the  storm  begin? 

Describe  the  nature  of  the  storm. 

How  long  did  it  last?     What  damage  did  it  do? 


241 


THE    BELL    RINGER    OF    NOTRE    DAME 

Quasimodo  was  born  blind  of  one  eye,  humpbacked,  lame. 
Bell  ringer  of  Notre  Dame  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  a  new  in- 
firmity soon  put  the  finishing  touch  to  his  misfortunes;  the 
bells  had  broken  the  drums  of  his  ears:  he  became  deaf.  The 
only  avenue  that  Nature  had  left  open  to  him  to  the  world  was 
suddenly  closed  forever. 

After  all,  he  never  turned  his  face  to  the  world  of  men  save 
with  regret;  his  cathedral  was  enough  for  him.  It  was  peopled 
with  marble  figures,  kings,  saints,  and  bishops,  who  at  least 
did  not  laugh  at  him,  and  never  looked  upon  him  otherwise 
than  with  peace  and  good  will. 

The  other  statues,  those  of  monsters  and  demons,  did  not  hate 
Quasimodo.  They  rather  mocked  other  men.  The  saints  were 
his  friends  and  blessed  him.  The  monsters  were  his  friends  and 
protected  him.  Thus  he  had  long  conversations  with  them.  He 
would  sometimes  pass  whole  hours  before  one  of  these  statues, 
in  solitary  chat  with  it. 

And  the  cathedral  was  not  merely  company  for  him,  it  was  the 
universe;  nay,  more,  it  was  Nature  itself.  He  never  dreamed 
that  there  were  other  hedgerows  than  the  stained-glass  win- 
dows in  perpetual  bloom;  other  shade  than  that  of  the  stone 
foliage  always  budding,  loaded  with  birds  in  the  thickets  of 
Saxon  capitals;  other  mountains  than  the  colossal  towers  of 
the  church;  or  other  ocean  than  Paris  roaring  at  their  feet. 

But  that  which  he  loved  more  than  all  else  in  the  motherly 
building,  that  which  awakened  his  soul  and  bade  it  spread  its 
poor  stunted  wings  folded  in  such  misery,  that  which  some- 
times actually  made  him  happy,  was  the  bells.    He  loved  them, 


242 


he  caressed  them,  he  talked  to  them,  he  understood  them.  From 
the  chime  of  the  steeple  over  the  transept  to  the  big  bell  above 
the  door,  he  had  a  tender  feeling  for  them  all.  The  belfry  of  the 
transept  and  the  two  towers  were  to  him  like  three  great  cages, 

in  which  the  birds, 
trained  by  him,  sang 
for  him  alone;  and 
yet  it  was  these  very 
bells  that  had  made 
him  deaf. 

To  be  sure,  their 
voice  was  the  only 
one  he  could  now 
hear.  For  this  rea- 
son the  big  bell  was 
his  best  beloved.  She 
was  his  favorite  of 
the  family,  and  had 
been  christened  Ma- 
rie. She  hung  alone 
in  the  south  tower 
with  her  sister  Jac- 
queline, a  bell  of 
less  size  inclosed  in 
a  smaller  cage  close 
beside  her  own.  This  Jacqueline  was  named  for  the  wife  of 
Jehan  Montague,  who  gave  the  bell  to  the  church. 

In  the  second  tower  there  were  six  other  bells;  and  lastly, 
the  six  smallest  dwelt  in  the  belfry  over  the  transept  with  the 
wooden  bell,  which  was  rung  only  from  the  afternoon  of 
Maundy  Thursday  till  the  morning  of  Holy  Saturday  or  Easter 


NOTRE    DAME,    PARIS 


243 

Eve.  So  there  were  fifteen  bells,  but  Marie  was  Quasimodo's 
favorite. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  any  idea  of  his  joy  on  those  days 
when  full  peals  were  rung.  When  the  archdeacon  dismissed 
him  with  the  word  "  Go,"  he  ran  up  the  winding  staircase  more 
rapidly  than  any  one  else  could  have  gone  down.  He  reached 
the  aerial  chamber  of  the  big  bell,  breathless;  he  gazed  at  it 
an  instant  with  love  and  devotion,  then  spoke  to  it  gently,  and 
patted  it,  as  you  would  a  good  horse  about  to  take  a  long  jour- 
ney.    He  condoled  with  it  on  the  hard  work  before  it. 

After  these  initiatory  caresses  he  called  to  his  assistants, 
stationed  on  a  lower  story  of  the  tower,  to  begin.  They  then 
hung  upon  the  ropes,  the  windlass  creaked,  and  the  enormous 
mass  of  metal  moved  slowly.  Quasimodo,  panting  with  excite- 
ment, followed  it  with  his  eye.  The  first  stroke  of  the  clapper 
upon  its  brazen  wall  made  the  beam  on  which  he  stood  quiver. 

Quasimodo  vibrated  with  the  bell.  "  Here  we  go !  There  we 
go !  "  he  shouted  with  a  mad  burst  of  laughter.  But  the  mo- 
tion of  the  great  bell  grew  faster  and  faster,  and  as  it  traveled 
an  ever-increasing  space,  his  eye  grew  bigger  and  bigger,  more 
and  more  glittering. 

At  last  the  full  peal  began;  the  whole  tower  shook:  beams, 
leads,  broad  stones,  all  rumbled  together,  from  the  piles  of  the 
foundation  to  the  trefoils  at  the  top.  Then  Quasimodo's  rap- 
ture knew  no  bounds:  he  came  and  went;  he  trembled  from 
head  to  foot  with  the  tower.  The  bell,  let  loose,  and  frantic 
with  liberty,  turned  its  jaws  of  bronze  to  either  wall  of  the 
tower  in  turn, — jaws  from  which  issued  that  whirlwind  whose 
roar  men  heard  for  four  leagues  around. 

Quasimodo  placed  himself  before  those  gaping  jaws;  he  rose 
and  fell  with  the  swaying  of  the  bell,  inhaled  its  tremendous 


244 

breath,  gazed  now  at  the  abyss,  swarming  with  people  like  ants, 
two  hundred  feet  below  him,  and  now  at  the  huge  copper  clap- 
per which  from  second  to  second  bellowed  in  his  ear.  That 
was  the  only  speech  which  he  could  hear,  the  only  sound  that 
broke  the  universal  silence  reigning  around  him.  He  basked 
in  it  as  a  bird  in  the  sunshine. 

All  at  once  the  frenzy  of  the  bell  seized  him ;  his  look  became 
strange ;  he  waited  for  the  passing  of  the  bell  as  the  spider  lies 
in  wait  for  a  fly,  and  flung  himself  headlong  upon  it.  Then, 
suspended  above  the  gulf,  launched  upon  the  tremendous  vibra- 
tion of  the  bell,  he  grasped  the  brazen  monster  by  its  ears, 
clasped  it  with  his  knees,  spurred  it  with  his  heels,  doubling  the 
fury  of  the  peal  with  the  whole  force  and  weight  of  his  body. 

The  monstrous  steed  neighed  and  panted  under  him;  and 
then  the  big  bell  of  Notre  Dame  and  Quasimodo  ceased  to  exist : 
they  became  a  dream,  a  whirlwind,  a  tempest;  vertigo  astride 
of  uproar;  a  spirit  clinging  to  a  winged  crupper;  a  strange 
centaur,  half  man,  half  bell. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


ca-the'dral,  a  large  church. 

per-pet'u-al,  lasting  forever. 

co-los'sal,  of  enormous  size. 

tran'gept,  the  part  of  a  church  at 
right  angles  to  its  greatest 
length.  forth. 

arch"dea'con,  the  chief  deacon.  I  ver'ti-go,  dizziness. 


con-dole',  sympathize. 

in-i'ti-a-to-ry,  beginning. 

tre'foil,  an  ornament   shaped  like 

a  clover  leaf. 
vi-bra'tion,  a  movement  back  and 


VICTOR  HUGO  (1802-1885)  was  a  celebrated  French  poet  and  novelist. 
His  childhood  was  spent  in  various  places  in  Paris,  in  Corsica,  in  Elba,  in 
Italy,  and  in  Spain,  wherever  his  father,  an  army  officer,  happened  to  be 
stationed.  He  received  his  early  education  from  his  mother  and  from  an 
old  priest.     Later  he  went  to  school  in  Paris,     While  he  was  still  at  school 


245 

he  began  to  write  poetry,  and  one  of  his  poems  won  him  a  prize  before  he 
was  eighteen  years  old.  Some  of  his  novels  are  masterpieces.  They  have 
been  translated  into  English  and  are  widely  read  on  this  side  of  the  Atlan- 
tic. The  most  famous  is  "Les  Miserables."  He  took  a  great  interest  in 
politics  and  was  elected  a  life  member  of  the  French  Senate  in  1876.  The 
latter  part  of  his  life  he  devoted  to  writing. 


MY   STAR 

All  that  I  know 
Of  a  certain  star 
Is,  it  can  throw 

(Like  the  angled  spar) 
Now  a  dart  of  red, 

NTow  a  dart  of  blue ; 
Till  my  friends  have  said 

They  would  fain  see,  too, 
My  star  that  dartles  the  red  and  the  blue! 
Then  it  stops  like  a  bird ;  like  a  flower,  hangs  furled : 

They  must  solace  themselves  with  the  Saturn  above  it. 
What  matter  to  me  if  their  star  is  a  world  ? 

Mine  has  opened  its  soul  to  me ;  therefore  I  love  it. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

an'gled,  having  corners.  I    furled,  rolled  up. 

spar,  a  mineral  of  many  colors.         I    sol'ace,  content. 

ROBERT  BROWNING  (1812-89)  was  a  famous  English  poet,  and  was 
born  in  London.  He  was  fond  of  the  country,  and  when  a  boy,  he  used 
to  roam  through  the  Dulwich  Woods.  "Home  Thoughts,  from  the  Sea," 
"Home  Thoughts,  from  Abroad,"  "How  They  Brought  the  Good  News 
from  Ghent  to  Aix,"  "An  Incident  of  the  French  Camp,"  "The  Pied  Piper 
of  Hamlin,"  and  "The  Boy  and  the  Angel"  are  among  his  shorter  poems. 


246 


A   JOURNEY  IN   BRAZIL 


December  29th,  [1865].     Pedreira. 
I  have  said  little  about  the  insects  and  reptiles  which  play- 
so  large  a  part  in  most  Brazilian  travels,  and,  indeed,  I  have 
had  much  less  annoyance  from  this  source  than  I  had  expected. 
But  I  must  confess  that  the  creature  which  greeted  my  waking 

sight  this  morning  was  not 
a  pleasant  object  to  contem- 
plate. It  was  an  enormous 
centipede  close  by  my  side. 
He  was  nearly  a  foot  in 
length.  His  innumerable 
legs  looked  just  ready  for  a 
start,  and  his  two  horns  or 
feelers  were  protruded  with 
a  most  venomous  expression. 
These  animals  are  very 
hideous  to  look  upon,  and 
their  bite  is  painful,  though 
it  is  not  dangerous.  I  crept 
softly  away  from  my  sofa 
without  disturbing  my  ugly  neighbor,  who  presently  fell  a 
victim  to  science ;  being  very  adroitly  caught  under  a  large 
tumbler,  and  consigned  to  a  glass  jar  filled  with  alcohol. 

Captain  Faria  says  that  centipedes  are  often  brought  on 
board  with  wood,  among  which  they  usually  lie  concealed,  sel- 
dom making  their  appearance,  unless  disturbed  and  driven  out 
of  their  hiding  places. 

To  less  noxious  visitors  of  this  kind,  one  soon  gets  accustomed. 


LOUIS    AGASSIZ 


247 

As  I  shake  out  my  dress,  I  hear  a  cold  flop  on  the  floor,  and  a 
pretty  little  house-lizard,  which  has  found  a  warm  retreat  in  its 
folds,  makes  his  escape  with  all  celerity.  Cockroaches  swarm 
everywhere,  and  it  would  be  a  vigilant  housekeeper  that  could 
keep  her  closets  free  from  them. 

Ants  are  the  greatest  nuisance  of  all,  and  the  bite  of  the 
fire-ant  is  really  terrible.  I  remember  once  having  hung  some 
towels  to  dry  on  the  cord  of  my  hammock;  I  was  about  to 
remove  them  when  suddenly  my  hand  and  arm  seemed  plunged 
into  fire.  I  dropped  the  towels  as  though  they  had  been  hot 
coals,  and  then  I  saw  that  my  arm  was  covered  with  little 
brown  ants. 

Brushing  them  off  in  all  haste,  I  called  the  servant,  who 
found  an  army  of  them  passing  over  the  hammock,  and  out  of 
the  window  uear  which  it  hung.  He  said  that  they  were  on 
their  way  somewhere,  and  if  left  undisturbed,  would  be  gone 
in  an  hour  or  two.  And  so  it  proved  to  be.  We  saw  no  more 
of  them. 

Yesterday  we  arrived  at  Pedreira,  a  little  village  consisting 
of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  houses  hemmed  in  by  forest.  The 
place  certainly  deserves  its  name  of  the  "  place  of  stones,"  for 
the  shore  is  fringed  with  rocks  and  boulders.  We  landed  at 
once,  and  Mr.  Coutinho  and  Mr.  Agassiz  spent  the  morning 
in  geologizing  and  botanizing. 

In  the  course  of  our  ramble  we  came  upon  an  exceedingly 
picturesque  Indian  camp.  The  river  is  now  so  high,  that  the 
water  runs  far  up  into  the  forest.  In  such  an  overflowed  wood, 
a  number  of  Indian  boats  were  moored ;  while,  on  a  tract  of  land 
near  by,  the  Indians  had  cleared  a  little  grove,  cutting  down 
the  inner  trees,  and  leaving  only  the  outer  ones  standing,  so 


248 

as  to  make  a  circular  arbor.  Within  this  arbor  the  hammocks 
were  slung;  while  outside  were  the  kettles  and  water-jugs,  and 
utensils  of  one  sort  and  another. 

In  this  little  camp  were  several  Indian  families,  who  had 
left  their  mandioca  plantations  in  the  forest,  to  pass  the  Christ- 
mas festa  in  the  village.  We  asked  the  women  what  they  did, 
they  and  their  babies,  when  it  rained. 

They  laughed,  and  pointing  to  their  canoes,  said  that  they 


LAND  JOURNEYS   ARE   OFTEN    MADE   BY    WATER 


crept  under  the  arched  roof  of  palm-thatch,  which  always  en- 
closes the  stern  of  an  Indian  boat,  and  were  safe.  Even  this, 
in  the  open  river,  would  not  be  a  protection;  but,  moored  as 
the  boats  are  in  the  midst  of  a  thick  wood,  they  do  not  receive 
the  full  force  of  the  showers. 

After  we  returned  to  the  village  and  rested  at  the  priest's 
house  half  an  hour,  he  proposed  to  send  us  to  his  little  man- 
dioca plantation  at  a  short  distance  in  the  forest,  where  a  par- 


249 

ticular  kind  of  palm,  which  Mr.  Agassiz  greatly  coveted,  was 
to  be  obtained.  In  this  country  of  inundated  surfaces,  land 
journeys  are  often  made  by  water.  So  we  started  in  a  boat, 
and  after  keeping  along  the  water  for  some  time,  we  turned 
into  the  woods  and  began  to  navigate  the  forest. 

The  water  was  still  and  clear  as  glass:  the  trunks  of  trees 
stood  up  from  it,  their  branches  dipped  into  it.  As  we  wound 
in  and  out  among  them,  putting  aside  a  bough  here  and  there, 
or  stooping  to  float  under  a  green  arbor,  the  reflection  of  every 
leaf  was  so  perfect  that  wood  and  water  seemed  to  melt  into 
each  other,  and  it  was  difficult  to  say  where  one  began  and 
the  other  ended.  Silence  and  shade  so  profound  brooded  over 
the  whole  scene,  that  the  mere  ripple  of  our  paddles  seemed  a 
disturbance. 

After  half  an  hour's  row  we  came  to  dry  land,  where  we 
went  on  shore,  taking  our  boatmen  with  us.  The  wood  soon 
resounded  with  their  hatchets  as  the  palms  fell  under  their 
blows.  We  returned  with  a  boatload  of  palms,  besides  a  num- 
ber of  plants  of  various  kinds  that  we  had  not  seen  elsewhere. 
We  reached  the  boat  just  in  time;  for  scarcely  were  we  well 
on  board  and  in  snug  quarters  again  when  the  heavens  opened 
and  the  floods  came  down. 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  PROFESSOR  AND  M  IS.  LOUIS  AGASSIZ  (On  the  Rio  Negro). 


cen'ti-pede,    a    worm-like    animal 

with  a  great  number  of  feet. 
a-droit'ly,  skillfully. 
con-signed7,  placed  in. 
ce-ler'i-ty,  quickness  of  motion. 
ge-oro-giz"ing,  studying  rocks. 


pic//tur-esque,  pleasing  to  the  eye ; 

like  a  picture. 
man^di-o'ca,  the  manioc  plant. 
re-flec'tion,  careful  thought. 
in-un'da"ted,  overflowed. 
fes'ta,  holidays. 


LOUIS  AGASSIZ   (1807-73)  was  a   celebrated  naturalist  who  was 
born  in  Switzerland,  and  educated  in  Germany.     He  was  especially  noted 


250 

for  his  studies  into  the  nature  and  history  of  glaciers  and  rocks.  When 
he  was  about  forty  years  old  he  made  a  visit  to  the  United  States,  and  was 
persuaded  to  become  a  member  of  the  faculty  of  Harvard  University. 
From  that  time  forward  he  made  America  his  home,  and  did  a  great  deal 
to  make  science  interesting  to  the  people  of  his  adopted  country.  In 
1865  he  went  to  Brazil  and  explored  the  Lower  Amazon.  It  is  said  that  he 
found  more  than  eighteen  hundred  new  kinds  of  fishes  in  that  region. 
He  and  Mrs.  Agassiz  afterwards  published  a  book  about  Brazil. 
This  selection  is  published  with  the  consent  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company. 


IF    I    WERE    A    BOY    AGAIN 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  practice  perseverance  oftener, 
and  never  give  a  thing  up  because  it  was  hard  or  inconvenient 
to  do  it.  If  we  want  light,  we  must  conquer  darkness.  There 
is  no  trait  more  valuable  than  a  determination  to  persevere 
when  the  right  thing  is  to  be  accomplished. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  school  myself  into  a  habit  of 
attention ;  I  would  let  nothing  come  between  me  and  the  sub- 
ject in  hand.  I  would  remember  that  an  expert  on  the  ice 
never  tries  to  skate  in  two  directions  at  once. 

One  of  our  great  mistakes,  when  we  are  young,  is  that  we  do 
not  attend  strictly  to  what  we  are  about  just  then;  we  do  not 
bend  our  energies  close  enough  to  what  we  are  doing  or  learn- 
ing; we  wander  into  only  a  half-interest  and  so  never  acquire 
fully  what  is  needful  for  us  to  become  master  of. 

If  I  were  to  live  my  life  again,  I  would  pay  more  attention 
to  the  cultivation  of  memory.  I  would  strengthen  that  faculty 
by  every  possible  means  and  on  every  possible  occasion.  It 
takes  a  little  hard  work  at  first  to  remember  things  accurately ; 
but  memory  soon  helps  itself,  and  gives  very  little  trouble.     It 


251 

needs  only  early  cultivation  to  become  a  power.  Everybody  can 
acquire  it. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  know  more  about  the  history 
of  my  own  country  than  is  usual,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  with  young 
Americans.  If  the  history  of  any  country  is  worth  an  earnest 
study,  it  is  surely  the  history  of  our  own  land ;  and  we  cannot 
begin  too  early  in  our  lives  to  master  it  fully  and  completely. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  look  on  the  cheerful  side  of 
everything;  for  almost  everything  has  a  cheerful  side.  Life 
is  very  much  like  a  mirror ;  if  you  smile  upon  it,  it  smiles  back 
again  upon  you;  but  if  you  frown  and  look  doubtful  upon  it, 
you  will  be  sure  to  get  a  similar  look  in  return. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  school  myself  to  say  "  No  " 
of tener ;  I  might  write  pages  on  the  importance  of  learning  early 
in  life  to  gain  that  point  when  a  young  man  can  stand  erect, 
and  decline  doing  an  unworthy  thing  because  it  is  unworthy. 

If  I  were  a  boy  again,  I  would  demand  of  myself  more  cour- 
tesy toward  my  companions  and  friends.  Indeed,  I  would 
rigorously  exact  it  of  myself  toward  strangers  as  well.  The 
smallest  courtesies  interspersed  along  the  rough  roads  of  life 
are  like  the  little  English  sparrows,  which  now  sing  to  us  all 
winter  long,  and  make  that  season  of  ice  and  snow  more  endur- 
able to  everybody. 

Instead  of  trying  so  hard  as  some  of  us  do  to  be  happy,  as 
if  that  were  the  sole  purpose  of  life,  I  would,  if  I  were  a  boy 
again,  try  still  harder  to  deserve  happiness. 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS. 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS  (1817-81)  was  an  American  author  and  also 
a  publisher  and  an  editor.  He  was  from  time  to  time  a  partner  in  several 
book  firms  in  Boston ;  and  for  eight  years  he  edited  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
"Yesterdays  with  Authors  "  is  the  title  of  one  of  his  books. 


252 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM  AND  THE  ANGEL 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) 

Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 

And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room, 

Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold — 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

"  What  writest  thou  ?  "     The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And  with  a  look  made  all  of  sweet  accord, 

Answer'd,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"  And  is  mine  one  ?  "  said  Abou.     "  Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerily  still,  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  who  loves  his  fellowmen." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanish'd.     The  next  night 

It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  show'd  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blessed, 

And  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH  HUNT  (1784-1859)  was  born  near  London, 
and  was  educated  at  Christ  Hospital  School  in  London.  Lamb,  Coleridge, 
Dickens,  and  Carlyle  were  among  his  friends.  He  edited  magazines  and 
papers,  and  wrote  both  prose  and  poetry. 


CHOICE   LITERATURE 

By  SHERMAN  WILLIAMS,   Ph.D.,  New  York 
State  Institute  Conductor 


Book  One,  for  Primary  Grades $0.22 

Book  Two,  for  Primary  Grades .25 

Book  One,  for  Intermediate  Grades 28 

Book  Two,  for  Intermediate  Grades 35 

Book  One,  for  Grammar  Grades 40 

Book  Two,  for  Grammar  Grades 50 


ALTHOUGH   these    books   can    be    used    to    excellent 
L  advantage  in  teaching  children  how  to  read,  the  main 
purpose  of  the  series  is  to  teach  them  what  to  read ; 
to  create  and  foster  a  taste  for  good  literature.    The  selections 
are  carefully  made  and  graded. 

^f  The  books  for  the  primary  grades  include  selections  from 
the  Mother  Goose  Melodies,  nursery  classics,  fairy  stories  from 
Hans  Christian  Andersen,  and  the  Grimm  brothers,  ^Esop's 
Fables,  memory  gems,  children's  poems  by  such  w  iters  as 
Stevenson,  Alice  Cary,  Tennyson,  Lydia  Maria  Child, 
Cecilia  Thaxter,  and  a  few  prose  selections  among  which 
Ruskin's  King  of  the  Golden  River  is  given  complete. 
^[  In  the  books  for  intermediate  grades  the  reading  matter  is 
more  advanced.  Here  are  given  such  delightful  selections  as 
Aladdin,  Pandora,  The  Sunken  Treasure,  Wonder  Book, 
Tanglewood  Tales,  Rip  Van  Winkle,  The  Barefoot  Boy,  A 
Visit  from  St.  Nicholas,  Children  in  the  Wood,  The  Last  of 
the  Mohicans,  Tom  Brown's  School  Days,  etc. 
^[  The  volumes  for  the  grammar  grades  are  made  up  of 
the  best  English  and  American  literature.  Among  the  emi- 
nent writers  represented  are  Scott,  Dickens,  George  Eliot, 
Irving,  Addison,  Patrick  Henry,  Lamb,  Lincoln,  Webster, 
Bryant,  Burns,  Goldsmith,  Tennyson,  Newman,  Poe,  Shake- 
speare, Coleridge,  Gray,  Macaulay,  Holmes,  Longfellow, 
Lowell,  Milton,  Whittier,  and  Byron. 


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is  regarded  as  being  divided  into  five  industrial  sections. 
%  In  the  SCHOOL  GEOGRAPHY  a  special  feature  is 
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WEBSTER'S  HIGH  SCHOOL  DICTIONARY,  #0.98 

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appendix  giving  a  pronouncing  vocabulary  of  Biblical, 
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plish two  separate  purposes — they  afford  valuable  instruction 
in  geography,  and  provide  drill  in  reading. 
•[[  The  books  are  intensely  absorbing — they  were  written  by 
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pen-picture  of  places  and  people.  The  style  is  simple  and 
easy,  and  throughout  each  volume  there  runs  a  strong  personal 
note  which  makes  the  reader  feel  that  he  is  actually  seeing 
everything  with  his  own  eyes. 

^[  As  advocated  by  leading  educators,  attention  is  directed 
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